Bewitch The Dark - The Devil To Pay Part 26

Why hadn't she said anything before? The pink fabric slid away from one breast. He wanted to embrace her, pick her up and carry her to bed and slide inside her, closing his eyes to her betrayal.

His whole life had been a betrayal. He should expect nothing less. But he wanted so much more from Dez.

"I was given a task." The slither of silk and dirt on skin filled his senses. "Or rather a reminder. Himself is quite eager to have his bride returned to his clutches. It is...all that he desires."

How it cleaved his heart to say those words. She is mine!

And yet, Dez had never truly been his. He hadn't mastered her. They had only been lost in the freedom away from reality for a few hours in bed.

A very small voice said, "I know."

"Do you?"

Rolling to her side, she closed her eyes. Did she ponder her secret? Or summon an escape?

The urge to use his magic, to make her look at him, to force up the truth from her heart grew strong.

Do not. She is fragile.

"Dez, I need you to look at me. To hear you speak the truth."

With a wave of his hand, he drew the silk up over her breast. "You said you loved me."

"I do." The slightest warble at the end of her statement. She knew he knew. "You want to find the bride? Will that prove my love to you if I give you her name?"

"You know it?"

She pushed up to sit, yet did not turn to face him, her eyes desperate to avoid his gaze. Shards of what Ivan now recognized to be pottery, thick with dirt, littered the cliff edge. A devil pot. He remembered Dez had mentioned she had surrounded her house with them. Bespelled with ancient magic, they could keep back Himself.

Ivan began to direct her chin up with a touch of magic, but he paused. No, this must only be truth. Nothing about this conversation-that he didn't want to have-must be forced or conjured with magic.

"You know her name," she said, so softly he felt the surrender in her voice. It tasted like an ache at the back of his throat, like nothing he would ever purposefully seek. "I should have guessed you'd find out."

"Why, Dez? Why didn't you tell me?"

She put up a palm, a barricade between the two of them. Still not looking at him. Long lashes fluttered as her vision flickered from the cliff, to the pot, then out across the ocean. Afraid, or perhaps unwilling to face her truths?

"Please know I never kept the truth from you to deceive. It is a secret I had hoped to take to my grave. It is something...I cannot speak."

So it was true. So very true.

Ivan's heart pulsed. Once. Twice. Could she hear it break? Did she notice his falter? That he winced as the heartbreak tore wide his insides? Could she be aware that this might be the greatest pain he had ever experienced? Yes, even worse than having his insides ripped from his body.

Not five feet away, the rose vines stirred, stretching toward him, but fell short of reaching him with their deadly thorns.

Logically he knew Dez must have been lured into Himself's clutches. It was how the Old Lad operated. With deception and temptation no mortal or immortal could refuse. He could hardly remain angry with her.

But to have fallen in love with the very devil Himself?

He could get his head around that. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d must have appeared to Dez as her greatest temptation. Seduction was easy for one so skilled in manipulation of desire and want.

But surely, sooner or later, Dez had to have learned the truth of her suitor?

"Shall I tell you my horrid tale?" came her pale voice, a haunting moth fluttering so close to the cliff. "Then you can decide whether or not I am still worthy of your love."

Ivan spun to face her. She was worthy.

Do you really believe that?

And who was he, the devil's fixer, to pa.s.s judgment?

"You didn't want a soul to know," he said. "You should keep it private, as you've wanted it to be. I...have to learn to accept this.

And figure how to get around it now. I can't bring you to Himself. I will not."

"Why not? How can you love me now you know I once loved Himself?"

She admitted her love for the prince of darkness. His master. Ivan swallowed.

"Doesn't the truth turn your stomach? Your task should be easy to shuck off now. Deliver me to your master and be done with me. It is just. If you do it, Ivan, your soul can be yours. And the Grande Grimoire-"

"Would mean nothing without you to reverse the spell. He's got that one figured out, I'll give him that. No, I'll think on this."

"The longer you think, the more spells Himself unravels. Did you hear the news this afternoon? It's happening."

"I won't sacrifice you, Dez. I..." He couldn't say it. Not now. I love you.

Did he? Could he?

"If you don't bring me to Himself, I'll call him here and step up on my own," she said. "As soon as all the pots are dug up, it will be possible." She reached for the shovel.

"No!"

Ivan threw a containment spell at her. It wrapped her arms close to her body and closed her mouth so she could not speak. The pink silk tightened about her flesh, transforming her to a glamorous, sodden mummy. She was not in pain, but he needed time.

Time to think. To figure things out.

She could not do magic when bound-or so he hoped.

"I'm sorry. It's necessary to keep you from doing something irrational. I won't have you bringing Himself here until I've thought things through. You're not going to sacrifice yourself, that's all there's to it." Suppressed mumbles pleaded with him.

"I'm taking you inside. You need a shower, and I need to think."

Within minutes, he'd cleared the roof, and laid Dez across her bed. Caressing her face with both hands, he leaned before her. Oh, the sweetness of her! Apricots. He could taste them on his tongue.

Ivan paced away from the temptation. "There's a way around this, I'm sure of it."

She shook her head negatively.

"Are you angry at me for this spell?"

Another negative nod.

"Will you promise you won't call Himself if I release you from it?"

She nodded yes.

Ivan kissed her, and swept away the spell. The sudden release of her muscles spilled Dez across the bed. She coiled to a fetal position and rested her head along one outstretched arm. Dirty hair fell over her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You've nothing to be sorry for."

"I just wanted to help. If I could have destroyed all the protective wards about my home, I could have opened it to Himself."

Ivan sat on the bed behind her. To spoon up next to her would increase the coercion. He fought it at this moment. At the same time he battled his own innate need to lean over her and pierce a vein. Drink her in. Finally know her.

He must not. This was a battle he must win.

How easy would it be to call up Himself and say "Here she is"?

"Let's get you in the shower."

"I don't need your help."

"I know that, but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"I don't want to get rid of you, Ivan."

"Then promise no more digging?"

She sighed, and wiped at a streak of dirt on her forearm. "I'll grant you a reprieve from the easy return of your soul for a while.

But just a while."

She sat up and suddenly gripped him by the head. "I was alone. Had been for centuries," Dez said softly. "He...seduced me. I had no idea."

"It's your secret, Dez, keep it."

"I can't speak it, but-You've no soul to harm. Please, let me fix you in my gaze, and show you what I dare not speak."

With an accepting nod, Ivan allowed Dez to bracket his face with her palms. Briefly he closed his eyes. It would be painful for her, he knew. But despite his reluctance, his concern for her...he wanted to know.

Opening his eyes, he stared, unblinking, into Dez's wide, tearing eyes. The fix began instantaneously, so skillfully she worked the stare. Within two heartbeats, his pulse synchronized with hers. His flesh warmed and he began to perspire.

And he saw what she wished him to see in his mind...

The iron structure was not complete, but he recognized it. The Eiffel Tower, beginning its thrust into the gray winter Paris sky.

Laughter bubbled in Ivan's thoughts. Hers. Dez danced with a partner in top hat and tails. Her face beamed. Suggestive glances were exchanged with the man who twirled her beneath his arm.

Lucien Black. The name formed in Ivan's mind. Now he bowed before Dez, dressed impeccably in narrow black trousers and a tailed greatcoat. The starched shirt beneath spoke of attention to detail and fastidiousness, and his gloves were white silk.

The cane he carried flashed as he swept his arm toward a waiting carriage. It was capped with a silver skull. Two inlaid diamonds glinted in the eye sockets. Dez's eyes sparkled with secretive greed.

Dez showed Monsieur Black to the door of her Victorian home. He bent to smell the red roses he'd brought as a gift.

"I prefer white," Ivan heard Dez say.

And the color dripped from the red petals as if blood, purling down the stems and sliding over Dez's hands. She didn't startle.

She knew the man was a witch, very likely a more powerful witch than she.

"Ghastly." A wicked giggle escaped. She did adore his dark humor.

The kiss made Ivan wince, though he did not blink out of the witch's stare. This kiss claimed Dez. It was a perfect kiss. One to render a woman undone.

He was an enigma. Bewitching her with his sensory magic, though he did not use magic. But the sweet perfume of him, the utter heat of his presence, and the splendid sensations from his touch mastered her as if a spell.

A woman with black hair who carried silver stakes at the crosses of her corsets pleaded with Dez.

Ivan gasped.

His mother. Ravin Crosse sat at the absinthe cafe where she met her lover, Dominique. Ravin cautioned Dez against a man she knew little about.

"My heart knows him," Dez replied. And she began to distance herself from Ravin's knowing diatribes.

A coachman presented Dez with a box, tied with black grosgrain ribbon and bejeweled with paste garnets. Inside, a dress of deepest midnight glittered with movement as if black metal kissed by silver. The dress slid over Dez's head with a whisper. The moment she reached behind to fumble for the tiny diamond b.u.t.tons, they secured themselves.

A long train ruffled with the silver metallic shimmer should have hampered her steps, but she walked back and forth and twisted quickly. The dress moved as if it antic.i.p.ated her actions.

"Tonight, he can have me if he wishes."

For Lucien Black spoke all the words she wished to hear. His kisses claimed her soul. And her soul had been wanting for a very long time.

"I have lived too long. I have had happiness, but more so, sadness. I deserve this," she stated. "And I will have love."

The walls of Lucien's castle were fashioned of chipped obsidian. Flecks of mica glittered within the glossy black stone. A full moon cast gorgeous cold light across the facade. Dez reached to run her palm over the stone. It was strangely warm and smooth as polished rubies.