Bittersweet Magic

Chapter Nine

They’d finished their little conference, and he was heading back. Roz wiped the expression from her face as he approached, his eyes staring straight in to hers.

Oh, great, the mesmerizy thingy again. She could tell by the intense expression on his face. He had stunning eyes, dark blue like a hot summer day. All the same, she wished he wouldn’t stare at her with them. It was just as well she was a good actress. She wondered who the old guy was—he looked on his last legs.

She just had to get through these questions, and afterwards, she was sure they’d let her and Maria go. Why wouldn’t they? There was one good thing about the mesmerization—at least he’d believe her. Easy.

“Sister Rosa.” He came to a halt about a foot away, a small smile playing on his lips. What had the old guy told him? She flicked a quick glance his way, and the man quirked his lips as if amused. Damn. What was going on now?

“Yes,” she murmured in her serenest voice.

“Strip.”

Okay, she was going to presume she hadn’t heard that right. Self-delusion at its best, but all the same… “What?”

“Take off your clothes.” He enunciated each word slowly so she couldn’t even pretend not to understand.

Shit.

What was going on? Did he really want her to strip for some pervy purpose or was he testing her?

Double shit.

Why would he be testing her? Did he suspect she was pretending? How? Was she a crap actress after all? She had to make a decision quickly or he’d know she was pretending anyway.

She took a deep breath. It wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her body. She could do this. After all, this guy had given her the two most mind blowing orgasms of her life—maybe he deserved to see her. She wasn’t so sure about the old guy. But even as the thoughts were racing through her mind, her hand went to the row of small buttons running down the front of her robe.

Piers’ eyes widened as though she had surprised him. Then they darkened as her fingers plucked at the tiny buttons.

She waited for him to tell her to stop. After all, he was only doing this to prove a point—that she was under his will—wasn’t he?

But she reached the last button, and still he didn’t speak out. If he believed she was afraid of this, he didn’t know her. She pushed the sleeves down her arms and the bodice of the robe pooled around her waist, leaving her top half naked but for the black bra. His gaze played across her bare skin, lingering on the too full curves of her breasts. She could feel them swelling under his regard, her nipples hardening, pushing against the lace.

A small smile curved his lips.

Yeah, the bastard knew she was pretending. Goddamn it—it looked like she wasn’t going home anytime soon.

He hadn’t known the last two times, she was sure of it—so what was different? The old guy? Who was he? Or more to the point, considering where they were, what was he?

Piers was still gazing at her chest. How far would he make her go?

Reaching behind her, so her breasts thrust out toward him, she fingered the catch on her bra. Staring into his face, she whispered the word. “More?”

He nodded and her eyes narrowed.

She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled. “Well, if you want more, you’re going to have to take it yourself. Fucking pervert.”

She heard a choke of laughter from the old guy. But she ignored it, holding her breath as she waited for Piers’ reaction. Instead, a hiss came from the old man and her gaze shot toward him. He was staring at the sigil wrapped around her upper arm. She’d always told people it was a tattoo. Obviously, he recognized it as something else.

He stepped up close and lifted a hand. “Do you mind?” he asked at the last moment.

“Would it make any difference?”

He smiled, then stroked one fingertip over the intricate design.

“What is it?” Piers asked, his tone sharp.

Jonas glanced at him. “You’ve never seen one? I’m surprised. It’s a demon’s sigil. A sort of brand of indebtedness. And it’s old. Very old.”

“How old?”

Could he tell? It would give her away. Then what would happen?

“Five hundred years, give or take a few. Your little nun has been holding out on you.” He studied her. “Just what are you?”

Roz sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”

“Actually, yes.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Jonas, by the way. Piers failed to introduce us.”

She eyed up the outstretched hand, reached out, and slid her palm against his. As she wrapped her fingers around his, a little jolt of power ran through her from the point of contact, as though some part of her recognized him. He must have felt it too, as his smile broadened. She tugged free. “And what are you, Jonas?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I’m a warlock.”

At his words, the air left her lungs with a whoosh. She glanced around, found the nearest chair, and dropped. For a minute she sat, contemplating the floor. He was a warlock. And he was openly admitting it here at the Order of the Shadow Accords. Where Asmodai had told her they would kill her, if they ever found out what she was. He’d told her they killed all people like her.

“Is that like a male witch?” she asked, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

“Witch, warlock…they’re just names given by people who have no real clue what they mean.”

People like her. Thanks to Asmodai. Roz could feel the fury rising inside her. She gritted her teeth. Asmodai had lied. He’d been lying to her for five hundred years.

“That fucking bastard.”

“Who?”

Piers had backed off and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them both. She clamped her lips at his question. She had to think things through. Decide what to do next. Sticking a dagger in Asmodai’s black, lying heart would be her first choice. Was it possible to murder a demon? She was betting there were people here who knew the answer to that particular question. In fact, she was betting there were people here who knew all the answers. No doubt, that was why Asmodai had lied—he hadn’t wanted her to know what was going on. It might have allowed her to think for herself and maybe reduced her usefulness.

Or did he have other reasons?

Beneath the anger, she felt a faint hum of excitement. Was she going to finally learn some of those answers? A shiver ran over her skin and she realized she was sitting there half naked. She glared up at Piers.

“Well, now you’ve had your bit of fun, could I get dressed?”

He shrugged. “Pity. That really is one ugly outfit but go ahead.”

She tugged the dress up her arms and held it together.

“So you were faking it all the time?”

She shrugged noncommittally.

“And you remember everything we did?”

“Well, I don’t remember me doing much, but yeah, I remember you sucking my blood, if that’s what you mean. Ugh!”

“Ugh? From what I remember, you enjoyed it a lot—both times.”

She gave him a scornful glance and sniffed. “I was pretending.”

“Of course you were.” The words came out as a rough purr that sent shivers running down her spine. “Would you like to pretend some more?”

Heat washed over her at his question, flushing through her body before settling low down in her belly. A little pulse started its insistent throb between her thighs, and she glanced away. Her hands fisted at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to bring her unruly body under control.

What was it about this man that affected her so badly? He was gorgeous, but she’d met gorgeous men before and they hadn’t made her lose her common sense or her grip on reality. Hadn’t made her forget everything but the urge to push him back against the wall and rub up against him like a cat in heat. Her breasts responded to the idea, her nipples tightening, sending darts of sensation shooting down to her groin. She’d rip that T-shirt from his body…

Someone coughed, and she looked up to find Jonas watching her. She shifted her gaze to the vampire, her eyes narrowing at the amused quirk on his lips, only slightly mollified as her gaze clashed with his. She recognized her own hunger reflected and magnified in the midnight blue depths.

“So, should I leave you two alone for a moment?” Jonas asked.

“Yes,” Piers said.

“No,” she snapped. She made a concerted effort to relax, her fingers uncurling, the tension oozing out of her shoulders, leaving her a little shaky. Too much had happened over the last few days. She was struggling to take it all in. But even if the Order didn’t automatically kill people like her, she also knew they weren’t necessarily on her side. Her only hope of living her own life, free from coercion, was to get Asmodai off her back. To do that she had to finish the tasks, and that meant handing him the Key.

What did he want with it? Piers had told Christian that the Key opened the portals between worlds. All worlds. But while Asmodai might be a lying bastard, she didn’t believe he was truly evil. He was a demon, and she’d come to see that he viewed the world, and the whole morality thing, differently from most people. All the same, she was pretty sure he wasn’t some megalomaniac monster intent on taking over the world and subjugating the whole human race. But what did she know? He’d successfully managed to lie to her for five hundred years. Could she really believe anything he said?

But what else could she do? She had to contact him to tell him she had the Key, so maybe she could ask. Of course, he had an irritating habit of ignoring her questions, but at least she would have tried. She bit her lip. How many times had she used that excuse over the centuries?

First, though, she somehow had to persuade these people that she wasn’t a threat, that they could let her go. How likely was she to succeed at that?

She looked up to find both of them watching her. “I don’t suppose you have something to drink around here?” She frowned. “Do you lot even drink?”

“Us lot?” Piers asked, amusement clear in his tone.

“You know, blood-sucking monsters. Or do you just drink blood?”

“We drink.”

“That’s a relief. Well, get me a drink, and I’ll tell you everything I can.”

“We could just make you.”

“What? You’d torture a nun?” He just stared at her, and she shrugged. “Yeah, you could, but it’s been done before, and I’m stubborn, and it would be long and drawn out and messy.” She tried her sweetest smile, the one that showed her dimples. “Wouldn’t a little drink be easier?”

His gaze narrowed on her lips, then he shrugged and turned to Jonas. “Go get something, would you? Any preferences?” he asked Roz.

She realized this would leave her alone with Piers but hopefully not long enough to lose her precarious hold on her control and physically attack him. And she needed a drink. “Scotch, if you have it.”

“I’m sure I can find some somewhere. Be good while I’m gone.” Jonas hesitated at the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll knock.”

She cast him a filthy look. “Hah-hah.”

For some strange, inexplicable reason, the room seemed smaller without him. And warmer. Not enough space to house the pacing vampire. He was just so big. She tried to ignore him, occupied herself with doing up what remained of her buttons, but a prickle running over her skin made her glance up. He’d stopped his pacing and come to a halt in front of her. His hands rested on his lean hips and he was scrutinizing her in a way that made her squirm.

She decided to go on the offensive. If she pissed him off enough, maybe he wouldn’t come near her. “I bet you do this all the time, don’t you?”

“Do what?”

“You know, mesmerizing women and having your evil way with them. Making them take their clothes off and God knows what else.”

He took a step closer, and she realized she might have made a tactical error challenging this man. She got the distinct impression that he was the sort who liked a challenge. Perhaps she would have been much better going with the meek and mild approach. But she wouldn’t have been able to keep that up for long—meek had never been her strong point.

He leaned closer, resting his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. His face was only inches away and she breathed in the cool, musky scent. “Honey, if I was the sort of man to do that, you’d know it.”

“I would?” Lord, she sounded breathless.

“Yeah, if I was the sort of man to take advantage, then darling, we’d have already fucked twice.”

“We would have?”

He whispered the words against her skin. “As it is, we still have that pleasure to look forward to.”

“We do?”

“Oh yeah, never doubt it.”

He closed the last space between them, and then his mouth was on hers. She had a brief flash of awareness to her brain that said she should stop this. Now. Somehow. Before she lost the will. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d lost the will long ago. But boy, could he kiss. Besides, the warlock would be back soon; surely it wouldn’t hurt to relax her guard for just a minute.

It occurred to her—not for the first time—that she was the queen of self-delusion. All the same, she couldn’t resist. Instead of fighting him off, she tilted her head back and opened her lips beneath his, groaned as the moist velvet of his tongue thrust languidly into her mouth. One hand came up to cup the back of her skull and hold her steady while he ravaged her mouth.

It felt so good. And when his other hand slid inside the open bodice of her robe to cup her breast, it felt even better, and she still didn’t fight him off. His thumb rubbed over the stiffening peak, and she groaned into his mouth. She craved the feel of him against her bare skin. How long had it been since someone had held her, made love to her? Too long, and she arched her spine and pushed up against his hand.

Her body was no longer under her control. In a brief moment of clarity, she realized it. Too long denied that most basic of needs, contact with another person, now it was clamoring for relief.

“Slowly, sweetheart.”

She didn’t want to go slowly. He made to pull away and her hands gripped into his hair and tried to hold him close.

“Jonas is back.”

It took a second for his words to register. For her to realize that the loud hammering wasn’t the pounding of her heart but someone knocking at the door.

Oh, shit, this was so embarrassing. Piers would love this. She’d been practically begging for it. Given a little more time, she’d have tossed him across the table and taken him by force.

But he didn’t look amused. He looked pensive, and she decided that was even worse. She didn’t want him thinking about her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She gritted her teeth. “Yes.” Apart from the frustration clawing at her nerves, she was fine.

He studied her a moment longer, then straightened. “Come in.”

The door opened and Jonas entered carrying a bottle of scotch. Nothing had ever been so welcome. Then she peered past him—he wasn’t alone. Just what she needed—more people to witness her total humiliation. Could the night get any worse?

…

Her pale, creamy skin was flushed, her breathing heavy, and her arousal scented the air. She wanted him. Badly.

Which was good, because she could have him. And hopefully soon.

As he watched, she pulled herself under control, though not before shooting him a glance filled with resentment. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. Why was that? It was obvious they’d be good together. Once they’d sorted out just who and what she was.

Could she really be more than five hundred years old? She appeared no more than twenty. And such a contradiction of sweetness and toughness. And she’d said she’d been tortured before. Where and who by? And why did he have the sudden urge to find whoever it was and rip him limb from limb?

That was unexpected.

And unwelcome.

He wasn’t in the business of protecting people, however much he wanted to fuck them. At least the thought had a welcome effect on his libido—his cock had been rock hard since he’d kissed her, but now the sting of desire subsided.

Tara entered the room behind Jonas and Christian, filling the space with her own exotic blend of sweet and bitter. “Tara, how lovely to see you. What the hell are you doing here?”

She grinned. “Lovely to see you too.” She sounded just about as sincere as he had. He studied her for a minute, searching for outward signs of her demon-fae heritage, but she still looked exactly the same—maybe even prettier. Living with Christian obviously agreed with her. Who would have thought it?

He had an inkling as to why Christian had brought her here today. To take care of the sisters perhaps, take them under her wing, protect them from his evil ways. Well, she could have Sister Maria, but Sister Rosa was his.

“Hey,” he said to Sister Rosa. “What is your name?”

“Rosamund Fairfax. Roz will do.”

Tara crossed the room and put the glasses she was carrying down on the table before holding out her hand to Roz. “Hi, I’m Tara. Christian’s wife.”

Roz grasped the hand almost gingerly and shook it.

Piers took the bottle of scotch from Jonas and poured out four glasses. He hovered the bottle over the fifth glass, and glanced at Tara.

Christian shuddered. “Don’t you dare.”

A teasing look passed from Tara to Christian. “I thought you liked me to drink.”

“Maybe when we’re alone and can lock all the doors, shutter the windows, lock away anything breakable…”

Roz was glancing between them, her expression confused. Piers decided to take pity on her.

“Tara is part demon,” he said.

If anything, Roz’s frown deepened.

“Don’t you know anything?” he asked.

A scowl replaced the frown. “No,” she snapped. “So why don’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. If she was more than five hundred years old as Jonas had hinted, where the hell had she been all that time that she understood so little of their world? “Demons tend to have a rather extreme reaction to alcohol—it makes them lose all their inhibitions. Demons can be quite restrained, but give them a drink and that restraint goes straight out the window—or wherever.”

“All demons?” she asked.

“Some more than others. The more powerful can control it and even the less powerful can learn—like people, I suppose. But Tara’s a little new to all this—”

She was studying Tara now. “Why? Why is she new?”

“Perhaps she’ll explain all that to you later, but for now, I think you’re supposed to be telling us something.”

It was Roz’s turn to shrug. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

“How about starting with who you are, what you are, what that thing on your arm means, and what the hell you were doing in a convent dressed like that when you’re no more of a nun than I am?”

“She’s not?” Christian asked. He sounded surprised, so obviously Jonas hadn’t had time to fill him in.

Roz pursed her lips. “I’d make a very good nun.”

“The hell you would.” Piers moved around the table, sat in one of the chairs opposite, and gestured to the empty seats. “You may as well all get comfortable—I have a feeling this is going to take some time.” While Roz had agreed to cooperate, he had a feeling that getting information out of her was not going to be a quick or easy process. Even now, he could almost see her brain working. She caught his gaze, and her expression turned guileless. She must be an excellent actress to stay unnoticed for so long. He waited until everyone was seated. “Well?”

Instead of answering, she swallowed her scotch in one gulp, reached across the table, and poured herself another glass. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“I told you the truth—well, some of it. I don’t know what I am.” She stared at the point behind his shoulder for a minute, and he curbed his impatience. He had an idea that she hadn’t told this story to anyone, and that intrigued him.

“A while back some people were going to kill me because of what they believed I was, so I made a deal with someone, and that someone saved me. But in exchange for saving me, I was indebted to him until I had done a certain number of tasks. Apparently the mark on my arm will vanish when I’ve completed them.”

How could she manage to say so much and so little at the same time?

“When was this?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “About five hundred years ago—1495, to be precise. And I was to be burned as a witch. They killed my mother.”

Even after all this time, he saw the pain flash across her face. But not only pain; there was rage there as well, and he’d guess it was the rage that had fueled her actions all those years ago. His little Roz was a maelstrom of emotions inside that serene exterior.

“Was your mother a witch?” he asked, as much to get a reaction as anything else, but instead of her anger, she looked thoughtful.

“At the time, I believed she was totally innocent—and really she was. She knew nothing. But she was a healer. People would come to her when all else failed, and she would help them. They repaid her by burning her alive. I listened to her screams.”

Piers remembered back to the night they had arrived. The scar on the other sister’s back—the healing had been much more advanced that it should have been. “Are you a healer as well?”

He thought she wouldn’t answer, and fear flashed across her face. She must have been warned not to talk of her powers, no doubt by whoever had saved her all those years ago. And she must have lived with that fear all these years, hiding what she was, blending in with the “normal people” but always on her guard. He saw resolve harden in her face. “Yes. But more than my mother. I can bring people back from the brink of death.”

He was guessing her mother must have had a touch of fae blood, as Jonas did. But Roz had far more than a touch. “Did you know your father?” he asked.

The anger flashed again. “I remember him vaguely. He was tall and blond, and my mother loved him madly. Then one day, when I was about six, he went away, and he never came back.” Her eyes hardened. “Bastard. He promised to return, and my mother spent her whole life waiting for him, swearing that one day he would come for us. Even when the witch-finder came at the end, even as they were torturing her, she held on to the hope that he would somehow save us. He never came.”

“Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe something stopped him.” Tara spoke, and Piers glanced across at her. The little demon-fae was blinking back tears. She was such a softy—amazing, really, when you considered who and what her father was.

“I believed he was dead,” Roz said. “I hoped he was dead.”

Her tone was harsh, but Piers suspected she was very likely wrong. “I somehow doubt that he’s dead.”

“Why?”

“I’m guessing your father must have been pure-blooded fae. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be immortal.”

Shock flared on her pretty face, her eyes stretching wide. “I’m immortal?”

“Well, how the hell else did you think you’d lasted all this time?”

She shook her head, clearly bewildered. “He told me…” She broke off and her expression hardened. “That fucking bastard. If I ever get near him again, I’m going to slice him into little pieces.”

“He?”

She clamped her lips together.

“I think maybe the sigil prevents her from speaking his name,” Jonas said from across the table. “It’s a protection method.”

“So what did he tell you? How did he explain the fact that you never died, never aged? How old were you when you made this deal?”

“Seventeen.”

So young. A child.

“He told me that he’d extended my lifespan, that I would live as long as I was indebted and bore his mark, but once I was free, I would age as normal and die as normal.”

“Can I see this mark?” Christian asked.

Piers glanced across at Roz and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged, swallowed the rest of her scotch, and pushed herself to her feet.

She loosened the front of the robe, flashing her underwear, then slipped it off one arm and turned sideways to Christian so he could see the mark.

It was actually very beautiful: an intricate, almost Celtic design that wrapped around her upper arm. “Can you tell who put it there?” Piers asked Jonas.

“I might be able to find out. We have some books in the library, which might help.”

“Okay, but later.” He had a good idea anyway, considering which demon he already suspected was involved with the Key, but he’d keep that to himself until he decided what to do with the information. “For now, let’s get on with the story.”

Roz tugged up her dress and sat down. This time Piers filled her glass. She peered at him suspiciously before muttering a thank you. Underneath the calm exterior, she actually looked a little shattered. Well, she had just discovered that she was immortal.

“After my mother died, I knew they were coming for me. I stopped praying to God at that point and asked for help from another source.” She gave them an almost defiant look. “I prayed to Lucifer. And while I didn’t get the devil himself, I got the next best thing.”

“And you made a deal?” Christian asked. His tone was expressionless, but she must have sensed some censure, real or imagined, because she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed.

“I was seventeen, I’d just listened to my mother die screaming in agony, and they were about to do the same to me. So yes, I made a deal. I didn’t want to die screaming, but more—I wanted them to pay. Can you understand that?”

“Yes,” Christian replied. “You could say I made a similar deal myself. You don’t think I was born like this?” He grinned with a flash of fang and some of the tension seeped from her.

“I made a deal. I signed my life away until I had done thirteen tasks. In exchange, I got to live and I got revenge—he burned the village, killed them all, and afterward…”

She broke off, and Piers had an inkling of what had happened afterward. He decided then and there that if he ever got the chance, he would help her slice her demon into little pieces. He kept his thoughts to himself; this was a demon, after all. You could hardly expect civilized behavior. Tara was not so reticent.

“All demons are bastards,” she muttered.

“What about the fae?” Roz asked, her tone curious.

“They’re bastards as well. They just aren’t quite so obvious about it.”

“Tara is also half-fae,” Piers put in. “She’s not too fond of her family”

Roz studied her; Tara appeared human, but then so did she. “Oh. Well, I’ve always known I wasn’t particularly nice. Now at least I can blame it on my father.”

“It doesn’t matter who your father is,” Tara said fiercely. “You’re you. Just because your father is evil doesn’t mean you have to be as well.”

Well, Tara would have to think that, wouldn’t she—considering who her father was? “Go on,” Piers said. “What happened next?”

“I just went on. The years passed, and I tried to blend in, moving on before it became obvious I wasn’t aging. It was hard at first, but grew simpler as the world got bigger and traveling farther and faster became easier. Every so often I’d have to do one of the tasks—”

“What sort of tasks?” Jonas asked. “What is it you do?”

“Mostly, I find things—I’m good at it. I’m a Seeker. That’s what he called me.”

“No wonder he saved you, if he knew that. Very useful. But I’m betting there are other things you can do.”

“Really?” Now, she looked intrigued.

“You have at least half fae blood. But it’s not only that; it’s your human blood as well. We tend to think that humans have no magic, but it’s more truthful perhaps that it’s just been forgotten. When it’s combined with fae-blood, fae-magic, it can awaken.”

“How would I find out?”

Jonas rubbed his hands together. “There are tests we can do, things we can try—”

“Things you can try later,” Piers suggested.

“But—”

“Jonas isn’t going anywhere,” he interrupted her. “You can spend as long as you like playing, but first, finish the story.”

She pursed her lips, but then gave a casual shrug. “A few weeks ago, I was given my last task. The thirteenth. Complete that and I’d be free.”

“And the task was?”

“I had to find something hidden in the convent of the Little Sisters of Mercy. A Key, but I don’t know to what.” She paused and sipped her drink.

Christian glanced at him, one eyebrow quirked. He reckoned Christian was having the same notion he was. Which demon knew where the Key had been hidden all these years? He pushed the thought aside as Roz continued. “So I got myself in there. I’ve become very good over the years at acquiring new identities, becoming different people. I became Sister Rosa, did a bit of creative stuff with their records, and I was in.”

“Bet that was fun?”

She tossed him a dark look. “It was hell. But I did it, and I was going to be free at last. Then on the last night, this creep, Jack, breaks in there, kills all the nuns, and steals my Key.”

“So you had no clue what this Key did, what it could do? And you just planned on handing it over to some demon to use for who knows what purposes?”

At Christian’s words, she turned and glared. “Yes,” she hissed.

“You could have gone to someone for help.”

“Who? He told me that I was an abomination, that the Order of the Shadow Accords would kill me if they realized what I was. I know he lied about a lot of things, but did he lie about that?”

Christian shifted uncomfortably. “Well…”

“In part,” Piers said. “The Order probably wouldn’t touch you, but under the Accords, the fae have the right to kill any with mixed blood. They ignore the people like Jonas—they prefer to pretend they don’t exist, but someone with half fae blood…yeah, chances are the Walker might want you dead.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Who’s this Walker guy?”

“He’s an assassin. Nearly killed Tara, his own niece, a little while back. So I doubt he’d balk at killing you.” Piers grinned. “So, let’s not tell him.”

“Good idea. Anyway, I needed my Key back, and you were my only lead. I thought you might take me to it, and so here I am.”

Piers had the distinct impression that there was something, if not a few things, that she wasn’t telling them. But the story made sense. One thing he didn’t like was the coincidence in two people searching for this Key at the same time when it had been safely hidden for a thousand years. But maybe it wasn’t coincidence at all. He poured himself another drink and studied her. She was back to impassive, the emotion gone from her features. She appeared so young and innocent. It was hard to believe she was more than five hundred years old, had lived countless lives. She’d been under the protection of a demon all that time and yet still retained a sweetness that was palpable. Mind you, she could also drink like a fish and was as tough and fearless as anyone he’d ever met. He still couldn’t believe she’d been faking being under his control—though she hadn’t faked those orgasms or her near desperation earlier. She wanted him.

“Do you sleep with this demon?” He wasn’t quite sure where the question had come from, but he leaned forward, waiting for the answer.

“Mind your own goddamned business.”

“I’m guessing no, and you know why?”

“No, and I’d really rather you didn’t bother me with your pathetic theories.”

He ignored her. “Because, darling, you wouldn’t have come on to me quite so strongly if you weren’t so desperate.”

“Piers, you’re a pig.” It was Tara who spoke. Roz was too busy glaring at him.

Hell, he’d been called worse things.

The truth was he’d almost forgotten the others were still in the room.

Christian pushed back his chair and stood up. “I think it’s time we left.”

Roz glanced around as everyone rose to their feet except him. “So am I free to go?” she asked.

Piers opened his mouth to say no, but Christian beat him to it. “Why don’t you stay here for a while, at least. As a guest of the Order.”

“Well, I’ve not been too impressed by the guest facilities so far.”

Christian glanced at him, one eyebrow quirked.

“She’s been in the cells.”

Christian shook his head. “Ever the gentleman.” He turned to Roz. “We have guest quarters above ground. They’re very comfortable.”

“And I’m not a prisoner. I can come and go?”

Well, you can come, and frequently, Piers wanted to say. On the other hand, going wasn’t an option. But maybe he’d leave that bit of information for now. “Why don’t you stay a while, work with Jonas, identify this demon, and we might be able to get him off your back without finding this Key. Jonas can also tell you something about what goes on here and maybe what you are and what you can do.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“I’ll show you to the guest quarters,” Tara said. “Get you settled in.”

Piers almost protested at that—he wanted to get her settled in—but Roz was looking a little dazed. Maybe she needed time to adjust to what was happening, and he had things to do. Trying to locate Andarta, for one.

Roz nodded, her relief obvious. He got up and followed her to the door, halting her with a hand on her arm as she was about to follow Christian and Tara out. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “I’d like that vibrator back—any relief you get is going to come from me.”

She shot him a filthy look. “Piss off.”