So Tempting (13 page)

As twilight beckoned, Jace wondered if she was on a wild goose chase. Earlier, looking for Jimmy, she'd thought she saw him get into a van just off the Plaza. She'd lost it briefly but picked it up again. Now she was headed back up into the mountains not far from Sabanne's estate, hoping for a chance to talk to her brother. Through the open windows, she breathed in the crisp pine scent, the air already turning cool as shadows lengthened.

As a way to spend her day off, this didn't rate high, but she'd done all she could at the station on a weekend, checking into Sabanne. So far, nothing odd had turned up, but her inquiry to Interpol had received no response yet, and for the three years he'd been in the U.S., his record was spotless.

But Sabanne grew
datura
in his greenhouse, along with other choice little poisonous plants, some of which could be responsible for the deaths of Sam and Sarah Brown, couldn't they? Damn, she wished Victor would hurry up. Once the lab tests came back, she'd use them to get a search warrant.

Yeah, right, Jace.
A search of the home of one of the richest men in town, a guy who had hosted judges and important political figures there just nights ago. With what motive? Why would he have wanted to kill a poor bum and a young girl? What would he have to gain?

What was it that happened to her when they touched? What had really happened at The Club? What game was he playing?

Too many questions. Including a big one: what the hell was she doing? What was it about him that—

Never mind. She had a case to work on.

She could handle Dante Sabanne.

She was hungry, and the headache from last night still had its claws in her. She considered simply leaving—until she saw the van take a turn onto a road she'd never noticed. Road was a generous term; it was barely a path. Jace danced an uneasy balance between getting close enough that they'd see her and worrying that she'd lose them. Having someone to share stakeout duty would have been a relief, but until she knew how Jimmy fit into all this, she had to protect him.

Up ahead, brake lights glowed red. She pulled her jeep off to the side and backed in under some trees. Reaching beneath the seat, she withdrew her Walther and tucked it in the waistband of her jeans. She crept toward where she'd last seen the brake lights, taking each step carefully to avoid the crackle of pine cones, barely visible in the encroaching gloom.

It was too dark to tell if that was Jimmy headed toward a dark shape looming in the distance. After scanning the area to see if anyone else was around, Jace emerged from the trees and followed.

Two men disappeared into a side door of a building with no visible windows. She started to follow, but she spotted lights from an oncoming vehicle. Quickly, she slipped behind a tree and watched.

From the vehicle emerged three people, two men and one woman whose identities she could not determine for an odd reason.

They all wore dark masks, larger than the ones at The Club. Why?

A prickle raced down Jace's spine. Could this be Jimmy's cult?

Dear God.

TheMagos
...Jimmy's voice echoed in her ear.

She had to get closer.

* * *

When Dante arrived at the cabin, he put his SUV in the detached garage tucked into trees that concealed it, then quickly entered the cabin and checked all the locks.

Finally, he was ready. Though he longed for the upstairs room where his soul could soar, this called for drawing in, closing out even the glories of moonlight. He needed to lose himself in darkness and allow outside sensory input to fade away.

He had to listen. To see. To learn who Justine was, if she indeed was a Prism. Entering the chamber, he set the saucer containing the blossom on a bench and once again traded street clothes for his robe. He selected stalks of sage and, as the native peoples did, lit them aflame and used them to cleanse the air, to clear it of even good energies remaining from previous spells.

This was a day for clarity, for sweeping away all traces that remained here. Once done, he knelt and sought the guidance of his father's spirit, of his people, of the elements of earth and sky. He took the saucer holding the blossom and laid it in the center of what would be the circle he would inscribe on the packed-earth floor, careful not to touch the petals before he was ready.

When doubt crept in that this would work, Dante dispersed it to the ether. He had searched everywhere, tried...everything. This woman was the closest he'd come to finding a trail to lead him to the Soul Star. Markos had the silver disc with its inert stone, he was certain. Hidden away somewhere, in Markos's frustration that he could not make it work as he wanted.

The Soul Star, the energy that brought life to the Eye of the
Magos
, had, however, vanished utterly when the amulet had been stolen. Dante could feel its presence faintly when he Walked the Light, but he couldn't find the path to it. Every year his heart had grown colder, the Song more faint.

Until he had met Justine. If what he suspected was right, together they could retrieve the Soul Star.

Together, though, that was the key.

The detective was hardly willing to help. First she had to believe, and she believed in nothing her five senses didn't reveal to her, it seemed. She possessed latent energies she denied. If what was between them was to be more than intense physical attraction, he would have to awaken her to who she was, what she was.

Then she must surrender, or all was lost.

But first, he had to try this. Perhaps with his own skills, wielding something she had touched would be enough. He placed candles on the floor, and lit them—yellow for clarity, blue for calm, purple for inner vision, white for the highest good—then cast the circle outside them.

Once done, Dante brushed himself with a bouquet of rosemary, inhaled seven cleansing breaths and bent to lift the blossom into his hands.

Immediately, the Song crooned to him, far away but clear, filing him with longing so intense his heart wept.

A handful of stars danced around him, wove patterns in the darkness behind his eyelids, then flew away...

Every cell in his body stretched and stirred to follow.

* * *

Carefully, Jace followed the people up to the building, watching through the door to see what was inside.

Darkness was punctured by the glow of myriad candles. A faint drumming could be heard through the walls.

Jace slipped around the building, searching for another way in. She found only one side door and eased it open a fraction. Pitch darkness greeted her, the sound of the drums fainter, as though a room stood between them. She squeezed through the opening and closed the door quietly. Stood there, barely breathing, her hearing attuned for the slightest indication that someone was near her.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw that she was in a small hallway, a door on the left closed, a crook in the hallway farther down leading off to the right. The drumming seemed to be coming from down that hall. She pressed her ear to the door on her left but could hear nothing. When she reached the corner, she took a quick glance around the bend and spotted the glow of candles through a curtain at the end.

As she drew closer, she could hear chanting. At the curtains, she peered between the panels, careful not to send them swinging.

A woman with long, dark hair, red robe parted and naked beneath it. She wore an elaborate mask that from this distance eerily resembled the Mask of the Dark Priestess in Sabanne's library. She stood over a young woman, naked and bound on a gleaming black altar like some victim laid out for ritual sacrifice. Above her head, the priestess figure lifted a golden chalice; at her side stood a blond man in purple robes, also masked.

A tall figure emerged from behind them both, robed entirely in black, his deep hood concealing the features of the person within.

The hairs rose on the back of Jace's neck.

I have many interests: rituals, sexual practices...
Sabanne's own words.

Oh, God.

The priestess's voice rose. "Are you ready for the Vision Quest, initiate? Will you let me lead you into the Light?"

It's used in a ceremony where the Priestess draws the young men of the tribe into the Light.

The drumming accelerated, a flute joining in to weave an hypnotic tune. Slack-jawed with lust, the assembled faithful leaned forward as one, eagerly taking in the sight of the priestess pouring a clear liquid from the chalice into the girl's mouth, then over her skin, rubbing it into first the girl's body, then her own breasts.

Smoky with incense, the air hummed with sex. Jace bet she could have walked right through the curtain and no one would have noticed her.

The priestess bent over the girl, whose mouth fastened on the dark woman's breast. The priestess's hands roamed the girl with abandon.

Slowly, she pulled away. The girl cried out and strained against bonds she could have slipped easily. Her lust-glazed eyes locked on the priestess.

"Keeper," the priestess called out.

Keeper
. Jace gasped.

The blond man stepped forward, opening his robes to reveal a surging erection.

The Keeper is dangerous.

The drumbeats accelerated, and menace throbbed in the air. Movement in the crowd drew Jace's attention from the stage, and she saw members fondling and groping while avidly watching the altar.

As the Keeper moved between the girl's legs, the priestess shifted to stand behind her head, kneading the girl's breasts while the girl whimpered and begged.

Looming over it all, the dark robed figure stood utterly silent and still.

When the Keeper thrust, a collective groan rent the air. The girl's hungry moan emerged from low in her throat. Drums pounded...harder...faster. Bodies tangled, some sinking to the floor. The priestess threw back her head in exultation.

Riveted by the sight before her, pulse tripping, skin slick with sweat, Jace watched, torn between disgust and fascination—

So entranced that she almost missed hearing the voices behind her.

She couldn't be caught here. Heart slamming into her ribs, Jace turned and ran down the hallway, hearing someone yell a warning.

She fled out the door.

As she raced through the darkness, she heard a deep voice call out and others answer, tones ripe with anger. Stumbling in her haste, Jace picked herself up and ran for her jeep, followed by heavy footsteps. Without turning on the lights, she took her chances with the moon's illumination, dodging cars and trees as she made her escape.

As fast as she dared drive, Jace navigated the curving path, heading back for the mountain road, avoiding the brakes to obscure her passage.

What in heaven's name had Jimmy gotten himself into? This had to be the group he'd joined—couldn't he see what it was?

Headlights flared behind her. A sudden thud against her rear bumper jerked Jace right back to the present. A dark van behind her bore down on her again; Jace swerved to avert a crash.

The van changed directions swiftly and sped up. Jace floored the accelerator and flipped on her lights. On the main road now, she still had to contend with constant twists and bends.

The van closed in and rammed her again. She struggled with the wheel, wrestled it back under control.

The van edged up beside her. Swerved.

Her jeep was no match in size, but Jace refused to give way.

A window rolled down. A muzzle gleamed.

She slammed on her brakes.

Saw the flash. Heard the loud report.

She jerked the wheel—

No time, no time—

A front tire blew. Her jeep veered out of control.

Spun off the road, into the trees—

Jace grappled for the wheel—

And braced for the crash.

* * *

Dante's body still lay inside the circle, but the mage within him took flight, watching for glimpses of starlight in the inky night. The Song lured him, pulled him...

Beautiful...so beautiful...

Enthralled, at first he didn't notice the evil slipping between threads of night, slithering toward him...

He listened, he strained for sight, for notes turning fainter, and his focus faltered, allowing a tiny crack in the circumference of the circle. He shook his head and reached out, never noticing one candle doused, another—

A shockwave, a roar,

He shuddered as chaos slammed into him.

The music abruptly died, the floor beneath him shook...

A crash.

Dante awoke.

Help me!

Where had that come from?

Then he knew. He didn't know how, but...he knew.

Justine.

He forced himself to proceed slowly against all instinct, disrobing and folding the sacred garment carefully, erasing the circle he'd cast.

Then he threw on his clothes and charged up the stairs.

Chapter Eleven

She felt something...wet. Jace couldn't see right and brushed one hand across her eyes.

Blood. She yanked up her shirt tail and wiped at her forehead to clear her vision.

With no airbags on her ancient jeep, her head had hit the steering wheel when she'd gone over the side of the road and slammed to a halt. Probing gingerly, Jace felt a gash on her scalp and hissed. No time to treat it now, though—she had to get out of the jeep and find cover before the men in the van came back and located her.

She groped for her cell phone through the jumble in her car, then abandoned the search. Reception in the mountains was spotty, and every second might count. She drew her weapon and emerged, plunged into the trees, battling dizziness. The pounding in her head ratcheted upward with every step.

She stumbled. Fell to her knees.

Jace knew she had to stop soon and figure out how badly she was hurt—but not here. With only moonlight to help, she scanned her surroundings for a good place to hide.

Ahead, she spotted the lights of a small cabin. If the occupants had a phone, she could call for help. Jace rose and staggered toward the friendly glow ahead.

A dark shape loomed.

Jace raised her weapon in a hand gone strangely weak.

The tall figure moved closer. Long dark hair surrounded a face that could have been cut from stone.

"Justine, you're hurt. Let me help you."

Justine.
"No!" She backed away, stumbled again. "No—you're— Don't touch me."

Dante Sabanne reached for her.

She took another shaky step back.

He halted. "What happened?"

Jace fought to keep the pistol pointed at him, blinking repeatedly to clear the jittery images. "You—you know what happened."

"How would I? Here—let me take the gun."

"No. You...you were there." She struggled to keep her feet. "You— They followed me."

He glanced around. "Who?"

Jace's eyes closed; she forced them open. "Back—back there. On the road. Ran me off. Shot—"

"Someone shot you? Is that blood on your shirt? Where are you hit?" He grabbed the weapon from her and tucked it into his waistband. Ran his hands over her.

It happened again, the spinning, the starburst—but it was all jumbled up with her head wanting to explode and her stomach—

Jace batted at him without strength. "Don't touch me. I'm not hit. Leave me alone. Got to get—" Her legs gave way.

He swung her into his arms and turned toward the cabin. "Come. I must take a look at this."

"Dark robes..." she whispered. "Was it—?"

He leaned closer. "What?"

"Can't—" Jace shut her eyes. Her stomach revolted with his every step. She'd eaten little all day, but she still felt nauseous. The spinning didn't help. "Stop."

He kept walking. "I must get you inside to look at your injuries."

"Gonna—" Weakly she pushed against him, trying to get down. "Gonna be sick."

"Justine, I have to stop the bleeding."

"Please..." She shoved at his shoulder, launched herself at the ground. Fell to her knees and emptied the meager contents of her stomach while he steadied her. Jace was mortified but too dizzy and muddled to do anything but remain where she was.

"Let me take you inside now. There you can rinse out your mouth while I look you over." His voice was gentle.

"But—" Jace's head spun. "It was you...in the robes..."

"Robes?"

"The ceremony..."

"What are you talking about?"

She couldn't think straight.

He started to lift her into his arms again.

She backed away. "No—please don't touch me."

He halted, his gaze peering straight into her. "You feel it, too, don't you?"

"No. No..." She was so tired, so dizzy. "I don't...it's insane. I'm not...am I crazy?"

"You are not, but you make it worse when you fight it." He picked her up, and she stiffened. "Please...try to relax." Then he murmured words that made no sense but seemed oddly familiar. "Better?"

The song drifted away. The lights receded. "It's because I hit my head, that's all."

"Denying it will not help. We must discuss this, Justine. You cannot imagine its importance."

She tensed again, shaking her head. "I don't want to."

He sighed and looked ahead as he walked, carrying her as though she weighed nothing. "Then for now, please try to relax and simply let me take care of you."

However much she wanted to argue, she didn't have the strength. Reeling and aching, Jace decided to bide her time and gratefully leaned against his solid frame. When they neared the cabin, he didn't knock but simply shoved the door open.

"Whose place is this?" she asked, squinting at the modest interior.

"Mine."

The furnishings were plain and spare. "But you have a mansion."

"Sometimes I need a retreat." He set her down by the kitchen sink, kept one hand on her waist to steady her. From a pot on the window sill, he pinched off mint leaves, squeezed them and dropped them into a glass he filled with water. "Here—this will help."

She rinsed her mouth with the sweet, refreshing liquid. While she drank, he took the pistol from his waistband and set it on the counter, then carefully he probed at her hairline. "You are certain you're not bleeding anywhere else?"

She shook her head, then moaned at the movement.

"The gash is not deep," he said. "I can bandage it. Look at me first, though." He held up a hand. "How many fingers do you see?"

"Twelve."

A small smile curved his lips. It made him seem approachable, for a change. "Turn your head toward the light." He studied her intently. "Your pupils are even and reactive. Rest should help the dizziness. Sit, and I will clean you up." Settling her in the chair, he retrieved a dish cloth and folded it, then placed it against the cut. "Hold this firmly while I gather supplies."

She winced but obeyed. "Those men..."

He picked up a cordless phone from the counter and dialed, walking away as he issued rapid orders in another language.

Then he returned. "Manolo will be checking on this. You need not worry, in the meantime. This cabin is secure."

"I should call it in."

"You are hurt. Manolo will handle it," he snapped.

"There's...a girl. A man—two men—in robes. A woman. Candles. I think they might have drugged her. They were...it's a cult."

"A...cult?"

"There's a hidden building back..." She tried to rise. Sagged. "Not sure. Back in the trees, up the mountain road. I...how far did they chase me? Two miles? Three?"

"I will send Manolo to look."

"Call...Earl at PD headquarters. Earl Ramsey."

"Fine." He picked up the phone, spoke again. She didn't relax until she heard Earl's name uttered.

He returned to her. "Now, please let me help you."

"No hospital."

One brow rose. "No?"

"Hate hospitals."

"I am not fond of them myself. Fortunately for you, I am quite adept at healing all manner of injuries."

"'Cause you studied all over—" She waved a hand airily. "Everywhere?"

Another small smile. "Yes."

"But you're...zillionaire."

"Not quite. Why does that matter?" The eyes were a soft gray now, the warmest she'd ever seen them.

"You could hire someone to do messy stuff like this."

"I could. Some things I prefer to handle myself. Does your head hurt?"

"Uh-huh."

"Let me get something for you." He left, then returned with another glass of water and two ordinary tablets.

"No potions?"

He chuckled. "I do know a good one. Would you prefer that?"

"Guess not." Who was this man? Not the remote, forbidding lord of the manor...not the sorcerer who'd seduced her.

With trembling fingers, she gave into impulse and touched his mouth. Were these the same lips that had driven her out of her mind—was it just last night?

He stilled, one hand clasping the cloth to her wound.

"Are you real?" she asked.

A faint smile. "Very."

"Did—did you kiss me last night?"

His gaze dropped to her lips, and she could barely breathe, waiting for his answer, for how he would react. It was madness, but she wanted his mouth on hers, his weight pressed into her. His power and darkness unleashed, the storm of it crackling over her as lightning dances on the crest of a hill.

His eyes ensnared hers with the focus of a raptor.

She reached out again to test him. Test herself.

And jostled the hand pressing the towel to her head. "Ow!" The spell snapped.

He retreated. "Hold this. I will be right back."

Jace complied, almost welcoming the sting as a wakeup call to reality.

Soon he returned with bandages and ointment and arranged them on the table. Jace stared at his broad back and lean hips. Competent hands acted with an economy of motion, strong but graceful, power held under firm command.

"Perhaps it will please you to know that the ointment is my own creation."

She started to ask what was in it, but she was too worn out to care.

"Only a few minutes more and you can lie down." He dressed the cut with a minimum of pain to her. With care, he bathed the blood from her face, seeming younger, not so forbidding and glacial. "How is your head now?"

"Better. Thank you."

"You are welcome. I will loan you a shirt so you can take off that blouse. There is a great deal of blood on it." Standing up, he drew her with him and carried her to the sofa in front of the fireplace.

Jace settled into the cushions. Her eyelids drooped. She was exhausted.

"Rest now, Justine. I will check you in a little while, but sleep is best for you."

She forced her eyes open. "Why do you call me Justine? No one else does. I don't allow it."

"I know." He left the room.

She thought about leaving, but thinking was all she could manage at the moment. With a deep sigh of relief as the pain receded further, she drifted off. A deep voice swirled from the mists.
Surrender...open yourself to me.
Fragments of last night, the madness, the ache of wanting.

Then he returned, the soft golden light from the cabin walls painting his face less severe. He studied her in silence, his manner pensive...troubled.

"What are you thinking about?" However much she didn't want to discuss the insanity that happened whenever they touched, she wanted to know what dwelled in those depths. So mysterious...so much that she didn't understand about him.

Too much of it tugged at her.

His face went blank. "Now is not the time. Sit up." He knelt beside the sofa, shirt in hand, and supported her back with his arm. "Are you able to manage this yourself or do you need help?"

She tried to summon the energy but gave up. "Help."

He slid her t-shirt over her head gently, then paused. Her bra was soaked, too. One quick flick opened the front clasp of her bra, and the brush of his skin singed hers. The vortex beckoned, and she shivered.

 His own gaze snapped to hers, and all she could see then was him. As he slid the straps from her shoulders, she focused on one deep breath, then another, trying to steady herself—but every hair on her body rose in response to his touch.

All neutrality fled. His eyes never left hers; she couldn't have looked away if the end of the world threatened.

His hand splayed across her midriff...so warm, his very touch sinking deep, whispering secrets into the cells of her body.

Then his hand trembled. With that one tiny chink in his armor, everything changed.

No glacial formality separated them now. Suddenly, Jace could see within his eyes something that spoke to the woman, not the cop. Called to the deepest part of her, the adventurer, the dreamer she'd thought long dead.

A shiver danced across nerves strained with waiting...sensing the hand of fate.

"Justine." His head lowered, his warm breath mingling with hers.

She could save herself if she ran away now.

She didn't want to. Fire beckoned...the flames called out her name. Every cell in her body cried out against restraint.

He didn't force her.

But he didn't back off, either.

"I want to break open this shell behind which you hide." He leaned closer, swirling dark currents in his eyes. "There is an empty place within you, and it eats away at your soul. You want to trust, but you are afraid no one is strong enough."

Trust
. He had unerringly put his finger on her worst fear.

For too long, she had relied only upon herself. Since the age of twelve that had been her only means to prevent her whole world from unraveling again. With the firing of one bullet, she'd been thrust from cherished child to head of family.
Never trust anyone—
it might have been engraved on her heart.
No one will be there for you.

"I— No—" She tore her gaze from his to rest on hands gone nerveless, pale thin fingers clenched. "You're wrong. I don't need that."

"You do. Let me help you find respite."

He wasn't wrong. She was so eternally tired of being the strong one. Of being alone.

His expression said that he knew, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, with exquisite care, he slid the bra from beneath her and cast it to the floor. The cool night wind sifted through the open window nearby, caressing her skin like the breath of a lover.

She waited for him to venture further into the seduction she craved, but he surprised her and simply slipped his shirt over first one arm, then the other. He lowered her to the pillows and began to button the shirt.

His long fingers brushed her skin again and again. Tiny shocks raced through her body at each whisk of nails across tender flesh. Shimmering bursts of starlight flared around him, and her nipples hardened to points.

Jace went still, for once not afraid of that midnight sky or the carpet of stars, tantalized by a sense of something extraordinary just out of her reach. Electrified by the challenge, galvanized by the thrill of fear, she allowed herself to relax and let it happen, this...whatever it was.
He won't overtake me. I won't let him. I'm strong. Tough. Nothing has broken me, nothing will.