Mona Lisa Blossoming

Chapter Fifteen

That gut-puking, nauseating pain miraculously stopped halfway down and I knew that Halcyon was somehow insulating me from it. Let me tell you something: The absence of pain is a wonderful thing. And let me tell you another thing: People were wrong. Hell wasn't what waited for you. It was the trip down. Once you got there, it wasn't really that bad.

Then we hit the ground with a jarring crash and I had to revise my opinion. The good news was that I hadn't accidentally stabbed either Halcyon or myself in that teeth-rattling landing. Jesus Christ, I hoped touchdown wasn't like this all the time or I wasn't coming down here again. No, sirree. The bad news was that my right arm was numbed by agony for a moment. Yeah, numbed. When white-hot pain rips through your shoulder and bursts out like an exploding supernova through the rest of the body, you don't feel anything but the pain. It becomes so great that your nerve endings shut down and stop transmitting, sort of like a throwing a breaker switch.

I couldn't tell if I'd dropped my sword or not. I looked down and realized that I still held it in my right hand, even though I couldn't feel myself gripping it. But okay, sword in one hand, numb or not, knife in the other. We were good to go. And as soon as I got my breath back, I'd get us to our feet. In a moment, or two, or three.

The thing you noticed about Hell, other than the pain—but that was internal, my own injuries, my fault, you know, not Hell's—was the heat. Dry heat, almost smothering, like in the desert. The next thing that you noticed was the odd, muted lighting. It was forever twilight down in this other realm. And muted was another good description. There were no sounds, other than my heart that seemed to beat as loudly as a dinner bell, and my harsh breathing, the rush of air in and out of my body. The sounds of life. There were no other sounds of life but for my little loud self. In the deafening silence, I could hear the rush of my blood, the pumping of my heart spurting that rich red liquid into my arteries, pushing it through my veins. Even my pale white skin glowed like a neon "come and eat me" sign.

And come they did. Various faces emerged out of the twilight darkness, all in shades of brown, from light tan to dark brown. Male and female. I felt like a Pale Face surrounded by Apaches about to be scalped. Only these were demon dead. They were going to do far worse than scalp me. Fangs emerged, saliva glistened, dark eyes gleamed, light eyes glittered. I could feel their unthinking hunger for my tender, living flesh like a beating presence, could almost taste their dry thirst for my fresh red blood.

"Uh, Halcyon." With great effort, motivated by a strong survival instinct, I got us both to our feet. To say Halcyon didn't look too good was a vast understatement. His head lolled against my shoulder and his eyes were closed, as if the trip down had worn him out. As if he'd used up all his energy to shield me from the pain. A heroic gesture, that, but I'd have rather taken the pain and had him a little fresher and stronger while meeting his subjects. They didn't look too loyal at the moment. Just hungry. Hungry enough to tear me apart, gulp me down, and then start on him afterward for dessert.

We were in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

"Halcyon." I shook him a little.

Halcyon roused, opened his eyes finally. Blinked them, looked around.

"See any friends or anyone likely to give us a hand instead of take it?" I asked.

Halcyon didn't bother answering me. The answer was obvious. Anyone wanting to help us would have stepped forward by now. Instead they were creeping forward slowly, sniffing as if scenting the delicious aroma of fresh blood, their saliva dripping, circling around us like jackals, gathering for the kill.

The High Prince of Hell threw back his head and released a blood-curdling howl that lifted to the nightfall sky, outward and beyond. A calling, a beckoning that was answered by a fierce, joyous baying in the distance that rose on the hot wind like an utterly anomalous sound, inhuman. Howls that crawled over my skin and creeped out my flesh. That made me want to run far, far away.

I wasn't the only one. The faces surrounding us turned as one toward the eerily triumph cries, then slipped away, disappearing like dark sand shadows, leaving us alone to face what was coming.

"Uh, Halcyon, do you think calling the Hell hounds is a good idea?"

"They are one of the few things the demon dead fear."

"For good reason, no doubt. I don't know if facing them is any better than what just left us."

"It cannot be any worse."

My skin rippled in an involuntary shiver as the first big shadow appeared. "I happen to disagree. Uh, can you control them?"

"We shall see." His answer was far from comforting. "When I call them, it is usually to feed."

"It would have been nice if you hadn't told me that." My arm around Halcyon's waist became more clutching than supportive as more and more shadowy forms appeared. They had the eyes of night creatures, reflective, glowing. Cold eyes gleaming with frightening intelligence.

They came forward and my first clear vision of them almost made my knees buckle. I firmed my wobbly joints urgently, desperately not wanting to be down on the ground when they reached us. Down on the ground would make us appear less master and more food in their eyes.

Hounds was the wrong word for them. Hounds made you think of dogs. And let me tell you… these things were not dogs. They were giant beasts on four legs, their heads as tall as we were standing. The sheer size of them made the sword I held feel like a flimsy toy. They were death come calling, with a tail. But the tail was wagging back and forth, as big as a sturdy branch whoosing through the air. But it was wagging. The biggest creature, pure black like the complete absence of light, came forward and nudged Halcyon's outstretched hand.

"Shadow," Halcyon murmured, petting that massive head. The great jaw yawned open in a happy grin, showing razor-sharp teeth and a long pink tongue. A pulse of power and Shadow was shrinking, growing smaller. Although smaller was a relative word: In this case meaning shoulder-high instead of head-high. He became an animal form more like the canine species he was named for. Black, sleek, still powerful. Still more than capable of ripping your throat out and swallowing you down in a few big gulps. Still frightening. But less… monstrous.

More pulses of power like batteries discharging around us. Other transformations. There were over thirty of them, of all different colors and fur patterns. A solid gray Hell hound came forward, nudged Halcyon's other hand, snuffling me curiously.

"This is Smoke, Shadow's mate."

Halcyon deliberately lifted his arm around me and gazed into the eyes of the great Hell hounds before him. "This is Mona Lisa." He laid his golden hand against my pale face in a gentle claiming. "My mate."

Their intelligent eyes studied me as if they understood what Halcyon had said. I let them sniff me, take in my scent, even when they snuffled my crotch. I'd washed but some scents you couldn't wash completely away. Their mouths opened up in gleeful doggy grins. I tensed, but they didn't take a chomp out of me. Shadow's long pink tongue swiped over the back of my hand—my right one holding the sword—and it felt like the roughest grade of sandpaper rubbing over me. I gave a startled yip, and his uncannily intelligent yellow eyes laughed up at me.

"Shadow, stop playing with her," Halcyon scolded him affectionately, "and take me to my father's house."

Father's house turned out to be quite a trek away. I walked. Halcyon rode… hunched over on Shadow's back, with his hands buried in the thick pelt of the hound's powerful neck. The midnight black beast was gentle, careful in his stride, as if he knew how weak his master was and how injured. But even so, pain carved deep grooves in Halcyon's face with each soft jostle.

I seemed to have found a second wind. Maybe from almost being eaten twice, first by demon dead, then by the demon dead's version of a dog. My sheathed sword and combat knife jostled against my side as we passed thatch-roofed huts built of wood, and ramshackle abodes constructed from rough-hewn stone. Hidden demon eyes peered out at us through the windows, but none ventured outside as the Hell hounds swelled the fairway, sweeping me along in their midst. The shelters disappeared and we traveled alone on an empty path for a stretch of time.

Then the fairway widened and rose, leading to a rise upon which loomed a dark tower built of smoothly chiseled black rock, with twin spirals reaching mournfully for the twilight sky. Grand it might be, but it seemed empty, full of gloom, as if no life stirred within its stony interior. Like a giant, elaborate mausoleum or an avoided monument.

And yet, life, it seemed, did reside here. The metal doors, black like the color of demon chains, creaked open to frame a demon dead male of imposing height though lean of build who wore a neat white shirt, waistcoat, and—can you believe this? — a duck-tailed jacket. All spruced up with nowhere to go. The odd thought that the attire had to be tailor-made flitted through my mind before the man strode down like a lurching tree, fearlessly wading into the pack of Hell hounds toward Halcyon. The action jerked me out of my reverie. I didn't know who he was, only that he wasn't Halcyon's father. I sprung in front of Halcyon and drew my sword.

"Don't come any closer," I said, baring my teeth in warning.

" 'S okay. Winston. Dad's butler," Halcyon slurred.

"A butler named Winston. Down in Hell?"

The big man eyed me imperturbably. "No odder than a Monère Queen down in Hell named…"

"Mona Lisa," Halcyon supplied.

The thin, severe mouth didn't even twitch, but some spark of humor leaped into Winston's mirror-dark eyes. "Mona Lisa," he repeated blandly. "Like the painting."

I bristled. He was the first one to reference it… a demon dead butler, at that. "What of it?" I challenged.

His eyes laughed at me, quite a feat to accomplish without moving a muscle in his stiff face. He simply brushed by me, ignoring my sword, giving me his damn back—hmmph! — as if I were no threat to him. But his long arms were gentle as he picked up Halcyon, cradling him against his lean chest.

I turned to the watching Hell hounds. Shadow's and Smoke's intelligent feral eyes swung from their master to me. I swallowed under their intense yellow gaze.

"Thank you for your help," I told them, feeling foolish talking to them. But Halcyon had spoken to them as if they'd understood, and oddly, they seemed to know what I wished to convey.

Their jaws opened in wolfish grins. Lifting their muzzles to the sky, they howled, a chilling, primal sound meant to stir man's deepest fears. The rest of the pack joined in the baying, a lonely but joyous sound. With startling bounds, they loped off into the woods, fleet-footed shadows of death, to hunt other prey.

"This way, milady," Winston said. He pushed open the heavy front door, carrying Halcyon inside. There was nothing to do but sheath my sword and follow them into the gloomy tower. Inside was even less inviting. The looming corridors seemed empty and windy. The grand stairway spiraled along the interior, reaching for its infinite pinnacle. Winston's footsteps echoed hauntingly in space rarely treaded by others. It was hollow and dark, a prison with only two lonely inmates trapped inside. Upon closer inspection, the interior was immaculate, spotless. Furnished in wood tones, accented with dark forest green and heavy gold, some might even call it stylish, if you liked that old gothic, monolithic look. The school of doom and gloom, not your typical Town and Country look. It was a man's abode. Not my cup of tea.

Via the windy stairway, Winston took Halcyon to a spacious bedroom on the second floor, and laid him gently on the bed. "I will awaken the High Lord," he said and left, moving with a curious silence and grace for one so tall and gangly.

I moved to Halcyon's side and smoothed his soft black hair back from his face. "I thought returning home would make you better, not worse."

Halcyon smiled. "The trip down did that, not being here."

"Ah, yes, the trip down. You shielded me. That's what drained you so much."

"You were in pain."

"I can take a little pain," I said softly.

"It was not a little."

"I can take a lot of pain, then."

"I could not," he said, eyes tenderly stroking my face. "I could not bear to see you in such pain."

"Oh, Halcyon." My fingers stroked his hair gently then moved down to cover the gaping wound slashing down his chest. It had started to bleed again, either from the rough landing or during the ride on Shadow's back. Dark red blood seeped out sullenly, wetting my hand, coating the pearly mole embedded in my palm, making it tingle, warm, come to life. Pain called my power forth and I let it pour out of me and seep into him. I moved my other hand down, swept both my hands across his chest, my palms strumming with energy as I moved them over his slashed chest.

Halcyon's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"My question as well." A dangerous voice came from the doorway.

I gasped and stepped back from Halcyon to stare at the High Lord of Hell. Standing framed in the doorway, he looked like the portrait I had seen once at High Court. Like the spitting image of his son. Or perhaps it was the other way around. The same long straight nose, narrow high cheekbones, full wide mouth. The same quiet elegance, trim, and slender build. But he was darker than Halcyon, bronze rather than golden, and wore unrelieved black: a black silk shirt, tailored black pants, black diamond cufflinks. The dusting of white hair in the portrait had become solid wings of silver flaring his temples while the rest of his hair remained dark.

The greatest difference, however, between father and son was in the eyes. The High Lord's eyes were the same dark brown color, like bittersweet chocolate. But it was the expression in them or, rather, the complete lack of expression in them that so differentiated them. They say that the eyes are the windows to your soul. These eyes were blank, empty. Completely neutral eyes that I had only seen once before. In the Queen Mother. Eyes that weighed and measured you and passed judgment. Eyes that did not care if you lived or died. It was more unsettling looking into those unemoting eyes than to stare into the hungry yellow eyes of a Hell hound. At least you knew what compelled that animal.

"Father," Halcyon said, his voice a weak whisper from the bed. "Mona Lisa. My friend."

"Your friend?" The High Lord arched a brow, an identical echoing gesture of his son's. "Your blood coats her hands," he observed, and silky menace coated his voice, thicker than the blood staining my palms.

I glanced down at my incriminating hands, at the guilty blood gleaming so darkly red against my white skin. "I was only easing his pain."

Halcyon nodded. "She brought me here."

"Winston said Shadow did."

Halcyon smiled. "Him, too."

"And he brought her here as well instead of ripping her apart and feasting on her tender blood and delicate body parts."

I shivered at the gruesome image those cool words conveyed. It took great effort not to fidget under that cold, cold stare.

"I claimed her as my mate," Halcyon said. "Shadow would not comprehend the meaning of friend."

The dark brow winged up again. "And he accepted her as such?"

"He smelled my scent upon her."

"I see."

I wondered if the High Lord did and felt a blush rising in my face.

"Call me Blaec." The High Lord flashed me a sudden white smile, wielding charm as effectively as did his son.

I blinked. "Blaec? What an unusual name."

"It means 'darkness. "

"Oh." I swallowed. "And yet your son is named for joy and happiness."

A fleeting shadow of memory and regret chased over the High Lord's face, then was gone. "A mother's wish for her son," he said quietly.

Procuring a pristine white handkerchief from an inner pocket, the High Lord offered it to me.

I gratefully wiped his son's blood from my hands. Not knowing what to do with it now that it was stained, I left it on the small bedside table.

Blaec's eyes swept over Halcyon's torn chest with almost cool detachment. But when it alighted on the bite mark, a ripple of dark power pulsed, thickening the air, filling the room. Making it suddenly hard for me to breathe.

"Who dared?" Blaec hissed, leaning down to catch the scent.

"Mona Louisa," Halcyon said.

"Does she still live?"

"Yes."

Something unspoken passed between the two of them. Lightly, Blaec ran his fingers over his son's neck, just above the skin. When those fingers lifted, I gasped. The marks were no more.

Blaec swept his hands slowly down Halcyon's chest, floating over the surface, healing the torn flesh. And it was healing so effortless, so unfelt. Always before, with Janelle, with myself, you could feel the power flowing from one to the other. But not so here. I stood only a foot away and did not sense anything. No pulse of power or strumming of energy. He just moved his hands and tissue was healed. And the complete absence of effort spoke more eloquently than words of the vast power he must wield in those hands. What one could heal, one could also destroy.

Even knowing this, when Blaec turned to me and pushed open the collar of my man's shirt to reveal my own jagged wound, I did not flinch or draw back. I just looked into those cool chocolate eyes with the knowledge of his power clear in my eyes as he lifted a hand and ran it over my torn shoulder. He did not touch my skin, but a feeling of tingling warmth, of heat, fell from the shadow of his hand and balmed my flesh.

"You have no fear." He removed his hand.

"There is nothing I could do should you decide to hurt or heal me," I said quietly.

Blaec's dark eyes glinted. "You'll do," he murmured. "Come."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Back to your people."

"You are taking me back to the portal?"

Blaec nodded. "I will await you at the front entrance."

Alone once more in the room, I looked down to find Halcyon's gaze warm upon me.

"You are well?" I asked.

"And will be even more so in a few days."

The sting of tears bit the backs of my eyes. "I am so sorry that you were injured this badly."

"Shhh," Halcyon crooned and grasped my hand. With gentle pressure he brought me down to him. Lifting his head, he met my lips for the first time, real, with his. Soft. A tender brushing. A sweet pressing of tender flesh to tender flesh. A searching, discovering. A knowing, now, of the shape of my mouth, the feel of his. A light stroke over the seam of my closed lips asking for entrance, for a greater knowing.

I drew back and looked down at him, my lonely prince, wondering why he drew me so. Wondering if his warm eyes would grow cold like his father's as the centuries marched slowly by.

"This attraction between us is now endangering you," I said. It had almost gotten me killed before. Now it had almost killed him. "We must end it. For both our sakes."

He shrugged, gave a wry smile, and answered simply, "I cannot. I cannot stay away from you, though I truly tried."

"Oh, Halcyon."

"You have so much love within you," he said quietly, his eyes searching mine. "Can you not spare a little for me?"

My heart twisted at his words. I did love him. And not just a little. But telling him this would only worsen things, not help. Wouldn't it?

"You are my only friend." Halcyon sat up suddenly and folded me into his arms. "My chosen mate," he whispered against my lips. "Do not leave me alone."

I closed my eyes, unable to resist his plea otherwise. "I cannot stay here."

I felt a sad smile curve those soft red lips. "I know. And I cannot be long away from here." A soft releasing sigh, a promising kiss.

"But I shall see you when High Council meets. And perhaps upon occasion at Belle Vista, your home, if your invitation still remains open to me."

I gazed into his eyes, into those bittersweet eyes so like his father's and yet so different. They swirled, alive with emotion. It was those eyes that helped make up my mind. I could not bear the thought of those eyes growing cold, detached. Becoming neutral. He'd been alone for so long. I knew how precious love was; it did not matter how long or short a time you held it for.

I sighed and smiled and yielded. "You are always welcome, Halcyon. In my home and in my heart." And I kissed him, sealing my soft pledge.

"Mona Lisa," he murmured and crushed me to him. I opened my mouth to him and he stole in, a sweet marauder, plundering what I offered and giving so much more in return. His tongue sought mine out with rough passion, glided sensuously against my tongue in a sweet wet slide. He trembled against me, broke the seal of our lips, and laughed softly against the sensitive hollow of my ear. "Ah, Hellcat, you make me ache when I am too weak to do anything about it."

My hand slid down to stroke his bold length, to measure his sweet arousal. He groaned and shifted against my hand as I savored the lovely fullness of him. "You don't feel weak," I purred.

He gave me one last hard, almost husbandly peck and set me away from him. "We will not put it to the test." His eyes grew heavy-lidded, slumberous. "Until later, when I am fully recovered."

"Until later." I echoed his promise with a sultry smile. "Heal quickly." One last glance at the son, and I closed the door behind me and made my way downstairs to the waiting father.