Mona Lisa Blossoming

Chapter Six

It was times like this when I realized how different we were. No matter how much I loved Gryphon, and he loved me, we were different. I was part human, and I clung to my humanity with both hands, wrapping it around me like a comfortable, familiar blanket in this new and frightening world. I kept expecting Gryphon to be more human, and Gryphon kept expecting me to be more Monère. I found my room by opening my senses until I could hear Thaddeus, Jamie, and Tersa, faster heartbeats than the others. I veered left from them toward the west wing. There were two other doors in that wing, across from each other, but I was guessing my room was the one at the very end. The big-ass room that was larger than my entire apartment had been back in Manhattan. Airy, spacious, opulent like the rest of the house, with its own sitting room. Tall ceilings, big bed with red silk sheets, plush carpeting were my fast impressions as I swung into the bathroom connected by an open archway. The bathroom was just as big as my living room had been.

I stripped off the gown, left it on the floor, and stepped into the lavish shower. It was more spacious than a bathtub even, with clear walls and door. Didn't matter. No one to see me. More important to turn on the shower, step under it, and let the tears finally flow. Cool water ran and I cried silently, letting the water wash over me, rinsing off the dirt and blood, wishing it was that easy to rinse away the hurt and pain I felt.

We are not humans, Gryphon had told me. Even after all they had done, all I had seen them do, all I had done, unbelievable non-human things… still I hadn't really heard him until he did something like this. Want me to sleep with another man just to possibly acquire his gift.

It hurt.

I didn't understand how Gryphon could do that. Not just be passively okay with it but actively try to seduce me into it because he had known it was not something I would have done myself.

I am serving you, Gryphon had said. The sad thing was that he honestly believed that. It was a time-honored Monèrian Queen tradition. Sleeping with men, then casting them aside when they became too powerful. And the men slept with their Queens because they were drawn to them, and because they wished to acquire more power to survive, to advance. A dangerous tightrope that many of them fell off of. Because what did Queens do to men who became too powerful for them to control? They killed them. Another time-honored Monèrian Queen tradition. Like a black widow spider, killing the males she mated with.

I am serving you.

Gryphon was keeping to the promise to which I had made him swear when I was afraid of losing him after I had only just found him. A promise I had selfishly wrenched from him because I did not want to be alone again. I'd made him promise to fight to live. He was fulfilling that promise. Only… oh, baby, serve me another way. Not like this. Not like this.

When I was clean, when the tears finally stopped and my breathing finally evened, I turned off the water and toweled off. Big fluffy towels to go with the big fluffy room. I was alone and thankful for it.

I'd been alone ail my life. Physically, the last three years. Emotionally, almost all my life. Ever since Helen, the human mother who had adopted me and loved me as her own, died when I was six and I entered my first foster home. In the long years that followed, I'd grown used to that solitude. The last couple of weeks, I'd gone from just taking care of myself, to taking care of nine others. And now finding I had to expand that to over four hundred more. God! The pressure, the responsibility, was almost smothering. Deliberately, I slowed my breathing. Wouldn't do to hyperventilate.

I felt dawn like a gentle promise, advancing slowly, inexorably. Pressing against the horizon, creeping ever closer. Someone had unpacked everything and put all my stuff away. I fumbled through the drawers until I found the big T-shirt I slept in. Old, worn, comfortable, and familiar. I had a sudden sharp need for things comfortable and familiar. With the soft cotton pressed against my skin like a faithful friend, I crawled between the sheets, tired and heartsore, and welcomed the unthinking bliss of sleep.

A wolf howled at the crack of dawn. Not a rooster. A rooster would have been preferred. Nasty though it would have been, a cock-a-doodle-do wouldn't have shot me out of bed with the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

It came again, a long, jarring mournful howl.

Shit!

I threw open a couple of drawers—couldn't remember where everything was. I finally found a pair of jeans, slid into them, and into my shoes in almost one continuous motion, and ran out the door. Other doors opened. I met Gryphon and Amber, still dressed, at the end of the corridor. I caught a glimpse of Chami, Tomas, and Thaddeus, who looked as if they had thrown on clothes as quickly as I had.

Down the corridor, Tersa poked her tousled head out. "What is that?"

"Good question," I said, looking at Gryphon. "Is that Dontaine?"

"No." There was an odd look on Gryphon's face, almost as if he knew what it was but didn't wish to tell me.

Another eerie howl floated up the stairs. I ran after it, chasing it like an ethereal specter down the spiraling steps, the others behind me.

"Wait," Amber called out behind me. "Let us go first."

I ignored him, bypassing the last twenty steps by leaping over the carved wooden balustrade and landing lightly on my feet. I dashed down the hallway, opening my senses. There. I passed through the kitchen, the laundry room, and came to a closed door. A sniffling sound came from behind it, and a heartbeat. Not a slow, slow one like Amber's or Gryphon's, whose hearts beat no more than thirty times a minute. A moderately slow one like mine, like Thaddeus's. Fifty beats per minute. And it wasn't fur I smelled. Not an animal. A human.

The door was locked.

"Open the door," I said softly to whoever was behind it.

The sniffling stopped, but the door remained locked. The rest of the gang came pounding up behind me.

"No, do not open it, Mona Lisa," Gryphon said.

For some reason, I did not want to listen to Gryphon tonight. In fact, I felt a strong urge to kick open the damn door just because he'd told me not to. And looking at me, I think Gryphon somehow knew what I was feeling. He held up a ring of keys.

"Open it," I said flatly and stepped aside. See, reasonable. It wasn't smart to ruin one's own property if you didn't need to.

Gryphon inserted a key. He knew exactly which one, I noted. He opened the door and I stepped inside. I didn't need lights to see in the dark. We were creatures of the night. Darkness was our home. I saw as clearly as if sunlight had flooded the room.

A boy was locked up, shackled in silver manacles against the wall. I could tell it was a boy because he was shirtless. Ail he wore was a pair of ragged pants that made Dontaine's ruined pair look pristine. Dirt, mud, stains, and bruises covered him. His hair was long and matted, hanging about his face in dreadlocks. Not a fashion statement but the real thing caused from dirt and tangled, unwashed hair. The boy's eyes gleamed like shiny wild things from behind his straggles of hair. Yellow teeth were bared and a growl rumbled from his throat.

He was Thaddeus's height but so different from my brother. Thaddeus had the thinness, the lankiness of a young boy about to sprout. This poor creature's thinness was the thinness of hunger, of starvation. His rib bones pushed out, while the skin covering them seemed to be trying to suck them back in, dipping so painfully inward into a belly that wasn't just flat and hollow, it was concave. But he was strong. Every bit of flesh he had was lean, developed muscle. The wiry strength of his body, even more than his clothing, his hair, bespoke his wild state. He looked to be even younger than Thaddeus. Fourteen, maybe. And he'd been crying, alone in the dark.

"He's a Mixed Breed," I said. My senses told me that. And not just half. More. Possibly three-quarters of his blood was Monère. Like me. Like Thaddeus.

Someone flipped the switch and fluorescent light lit the room.

A sharp gasp. Then Tersa whispered, "Oh, dear Goddess."

I kept my attention fixed on the boy. "Can you understand me?" I asked softly.

No reply. Just that warning rumble.

"It's okay. We're not going to hurt you," I soothed.

When I turned to Gryphon, my voice wasn't as gentle. "What the fuck is this?"

Gryphon had on his impassive face, the one that told you nothing. "A present Mona Louisa left behind."

"How long has he been here, locked up like this?"

"Horace did not say," Gryphon said quietly.

"Two days." It was Dontaine's raspy voice. He'd pushed through or maybe everyone had just stepped back and let him through. He'd healed enough to close his windpipe but not cover it. The little bones and cartilage of his trachea were clearly visible, moving as he talked. He didn't drip blood, but it glistened there. Wet meat. "He existed in the bayou. She had him captured two days ago. Left him for you."

No need to ask why. The message was clear. This is what Mixed Bloods are to us.

"Was he causing trouble?" I asked.

Dontaine shook his head slightly, making the loose flesh move around his trachea. It was even worse than watching him talk.

"He is a wild thing," Dontaine said.

"I kinda got that when he howled," I said.

"Grew up in the swamps. But no, he was not killing cattle or raiding human livestock."

"Would they have killed him if he was?" I asked.

"Yes."

I didn't want to ask, to know, if they had killed others like this boy. Nothing here to take my rage out on if they had. Mona Louisa was gone. Although maybe the boy's mother was still here.

"One of the women here had him." I said it as a fact, not a question.

"Sweet Mother, is that what you do with Mixed Breed children here? Leave them in the swamps?" It was Rosemary who voiced that angry question. Rosemary, a Monère woman who had loved and raised her Mixed Blood children, keeping them with her instead of abandoning them to the humans. Or abandoning them in the swamp. Jesus.

"Some women. Not all," Dontaine replied. "Mona Louisa did not care what they did with them."

"God," I whispered. I turned to Gryphon. "You knew he was here. And you left him here. Like this."

"I would have told you, after Dontaine. But you were upset. I thought that you had been through enough already tonight."

"Not upset enough to leave this boy here like this." Gryphon knew my body intimately, but I wondered if he knew me at all. "Release him. Where's the key?"

Gryphon shifted along the ring until he came to a smaller key, shorter than the rest. "If you will leave, I will free him."

"No fucking way."

He sighed, a faint sound of anger, of unhappiness. But he wasn't the only one angry and unhappy here.

"It will be easier for the boy with less people here," he said.

I had to agree with Gryphon about that. I turned around and scanned the faces present. Amber was too big, too intimidating. Of all the men there, slender Chami looked the least threatening. Funny how deceptive looks can be.

"Chami, you stay. Everyone else leave."

"Mona Lisa…" Amber said.

Even quiet Tomas was protesting. "I don't think that's—"

I held up my hand. "I'm staying. A woman will be less threatening to him. Everyone else out, now. That's an order."

Obedience to a Queen was deeply ingrained, it seemed. They shut their mouths and left.

I turned to Gryphon. "You, too."

Something indecipherable rippled across that cool mask of his for a fleeting moment. Silently, he pushed the key into my hand and left. And the ache in my chest grew heavier.

"No killing, Chami. just restrain him if you need to. But don't hurt him."

Chami nodded his understanding.

The door opened and Tersa slipped in. Her eyes glistened and her face was damp, as if she'd brushed away tears. Quiet, gentle Tersa no longer looked so gentle. Her eyes shone fiercely and she looked like she wanted to strangle someone—a heartless pure blood mother, perhaps. "Let me help."

"No," I told Tersa softly.

"I am the smallest. The least threatening."

Tersa was even smaller than the boy. And so much more delicate that the thought of letting her anywhere near him chased my heart into my throat to beat there like a trapped, frightened thing. "No."

Tersa looked at me, a girl who had hardly spoken aloud since she had been raped. A girl who had been careful to avoid close proximity to any man other than her brother.

"He's like us. He could have been me or Jamie," she said. "See, he's stopped growling. He's looking at me curiously."

I turned and saw that what she said was true. The boy was sniffing the air, his nostrils flared, his eyes intently focused on a person even smaller than himself. Intent and curious, as if she was an unknown entity. A girl.

"Please," Tersa said, "let me try."

It was the hardest thing to put that key in her hand. "If I say stop, you stop, and back up slowly from Wild Boy, here. Understand?"

Tersa nodded. But it was an absentminded gesture, as if her attention were already focused on the boy she approached with care. "I'm Tersa. Tersa," she repeated, putting a hand on her chest, indicating her person. "I'm going to free you from those nasty chains. I won't hurt you," she murmured, coming close to him.

He was staring at her intently, his eyes an unusual light gray, almost silvery in color—keen pale eyes peeking through a tangle of hair. His nostrils flared wide like a wild animal scenting for danger.

Tersa was close enough now so that all it would take would be one lunge forward and he could rip into her with his teeth. I wanted badly to snatch her back to safety. But any sudden movement now might trigger the very violence I wanted to avoid. It was hard, so hard just to stand there and let her put herself in danger like that.

She talked to him like he understood her, her voice a constant soothing murmur telling him she wanted to help him, that all of us wanted to help, as she inserted the key. It didn't matter what she said, what the actual words were. The tone, the gentle way she said it was the real message. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you.

Slowly, carefully, gently, Tersa freed him from the first manacle, opening it and sliding it off. The loud sound of heavy metal clunking as it fell back against the wall was jarring in the tenseness. The boy shot Chami and me a quick piercing glance, assuring himself that we were still far enough away from him, that we hadn't moved, then returned his attention back to Tersa. He watched her as she crossed in front of him over to the other side and opened his other manacle. It clanked with a heavy thud against the wall, and he was free. His body was tense, quivering, ready to spring away. But he didn't move, even though his body clearly wanted to. He just stood there looking at Tersa, less than a foot between them, his head tilted just the slightest bit, as if the soft lilting words were as fascinating to him as the smallness of her person.

"I'm going to give you my hand," Tersa said in her soft, soothing murmur, like water flowing gently in a stream. Slowly, she lifted one hand, held it out to him. "Take my hand and we'll leave this room. We'll leave this horrible place. Walk right out of here together."

Moving as slowly as she had, the boy crouched down and brought his face closer to that small outstretched hand, sniffing it, inhaling Tersa's scent. She stood completely still as he edged closer. Her gentle flow of words dried up and stopped as he brought his face close to her arms, sniffed, and moved to her chest, her stomach, down the skirt of the dress she wore.

Tersa took a deep breath in, let it out. Held still under his keen inspection of her. Finally, he was done, moving back a little.

"See, harmless," Tersa said softly. She reached her hand once more out to him. "Give me your hand." She tapped her open palm twice as she said the word hand and pointed to his hand. She had his full attention, at least, if not his comprehension. I held my breath as Tersa slowly reached out that short distance and touched his hand. He quivered but otherwise didn't move as Tersa gently took his hand in hers.

"See, it doesn't hurt," she murmured and smiled for the very first time. It transformed her face into something beautiful and the boy gazed at her, mesmerized.

She took a little step toward the door and tugged on his hand. "Come on. Let's get out of here." He took a little step as well, allowing her to pull him forward.

"I'm going to open the door," I said quietly. "Chami, go on out. I'll follow you."

Chami didn't argue with me, good man. The door closed behind us then opened a moment later. Tersa came out leading the cautious, tense Wild Boy by the hand. His eyes darted around, taking everything in. His nostrils flared.

The delicious aroma of cooking meat filled the hallway, like an invisible beckoning hand. I sent a silent thanks to wonderful, smart, kind-hearted Rosemary as we followed the scent out to the kitchen. Rosemary had cleared out the rest of the people so that the kitchen was empty but for her.

"It's a bit on the raw side, but I don't think he'll mind," Rosemary said, setting down a plate of steak on the round kitchen table. A glass of water and cutlery sat neatly on the side, a butter knife instead of the usual sharp steak knife, thank you, God.

Tersa led Wild Boy to the table, taking an empty seat. His eyes flickering from the meat to us, he sank hesitantly into the chair next to her. Chami, Rosemary, and I stayed back, giving them plenty of space.

"Go ahead," Tersa said, gesturing to the food. "Eat."

He lowered his head, sniffed it curiously, and sat back up. He didn't touch it, though he was obviously starved.

"Tersa," I said. "Cut a small piece for yourself. Chew and swallow it. Show him that it's safe to eat."

Wild Boy watched intently as Tersa used the knife and fork to cut off a tiny portion. "See," she said, after swallowing it. "Delicious."

He didn't bother with the fork and knife. He just picked up the meat with both hands and took a huge tearing bite out of it, wary eyes fixed on us as he chewed hungrily. He gulped it down, barely taking time to chew, like a wild animal afraid that its food could be taken away from him at any moment.

Rosemary took a deep breath and I saw the shine of tears in her eyes.

Tersa picked up the glass of water, took a drink, and held it out to him. "Water."

Awkwardly, he cupped the glass in his greasy hands, sniffed, and cautiously tipped the glass into his mouth, tasted, and swallowed. Satisfied it was nothing but water, he opened wide and poured the contents down his throat. Part of it trickled down his chin. It was heartbreakingly obvious everything was new to him, including cooked meat.

"Should I make him more food?" Rosemary asked, speaking softly.

"No," I answered. "Too much food and he might throw up. That's enough for now. Let it settle in his stomach."

"Then if he's all through eating, a bath is what he should be having next," Rosemary declared.

Tersa nodded in vehement agreement with her mother. "Absolutely."

The idea of trying to give Wild Boy here a bath boggled my mind. Although, with Tersa, he'd been remarkably cooperative so far. Well, can't tell unless you try.

We ended up using Dontaine's bathroom, the closest to us. The smell of blood in the room, on the mattress, along the walls, brought all of Wild Boy's senses quivering to the fore. He growled deep in his throat at the sight of Dontaine and watched carefully as the taller man slowly circled wide around him and left, ceding the room to us.

My presence and Chami's didn't seem to bother him. He seemed willing to tolerate us. But Tersa was the only one he allowed close to him, warning us off with a low growl if we ventured too close.

Rosemary left to rustle up some clothing. "And towels," I told her. "Lots and lots of towels." I ran the water in the tub, tepid temperature, reasoning that it would be what was most familiar to him.

Hot water against his skin for the first time in his life was something I'd leave for a later adventure.

The sound of running water drew the boy to the bathroom and he looked about the room in fascination. Unfortunately, the tub filled all too quickly. Now we were left with the hardest part, the quandary of how to get Wild Boy into the tub without him going ballistic on us.

"Any ideas?" I said to Tersa.

She shrugged. "I'll get into the tub first to show him what to do, like with eating." Kicking off her shoes, she stepped, dress and all, into the tub and sat down. Her skirt billowed up in front of her like a wet balloon. She pushed it down until all the material was submerged.

"Water," she said, swirling her hand in the tub. I passed her a washcloth and she dipped it into the water, lathered it up with soap, and starting scrubbing her hands. "Wash."

Wild Boy watched her with fascinated intent. His eyes narrowed, then grew round as Tersa lay back, submerging her hair. Sitting back up, she poured shampoo into her hand and proceeded to lather up her long mane.

"Wash hair," she said. Leaning back, she submersed her hair once more, keeping her face above the water. Sitting up, she squeezed the water out of her long tresses. I passed her a towel, and she stepped out of the tub. Water splashed and dripped down, making a total mess of the floor. No help for it.

"Your turn," Tersa said, pointing her hand at him. "Wash." She took his hand and led him, if not eagerly, then at least unresistingly to the tub. The bathroom was big enough so that I could keep a good distance away. The tub, thankfully, was also positioned so that he had a good visual of the bathroom and the bedroom beyond where Chami had stayed.

Wild Boy stepped into the tub and sat down. Viola. Mission accomplished with hardly a splash. He was an intelligent creature and we had shown him what we wanted him to do.

Tersa knelt down at the side of the tub, facing him, and started to soap up the washcloth. She started with his hands. Dip, rinse, and his hands came out of the water clean, his tanned skin looking almost startling white against the rest of his unwashed self. He looked at his cleaned skin with as much shock and absorption as we did.

The water was already a swirling brown. By the time Tersa had scrubbed his chest, back, and legs, it was a muddy dark chocolate. He seemed fascinated with the slippery soap, playing with it as she washed him down.

"Wash hair," Tersa said, pointing to the top of his head. She pantomimed laying her head back. Wild Boy let the soap slip from his hands into the water. With a quick checking glance around the room, pinpointing our locations—we hadn't moved—he focused his eyes back on Tersa, and in an act requiring so much trust on his part, he leaned back until his hair was beneath the water, leaving his throat open and vulnerable. With a surge he sat back up, splashing water on Tersa. She gave a startled little shriek and laughed. She actually laughed. It was a happy sound and he smiled at her. She smiled back.

Shampooing his hair was the hardest part. Tersa ended up using almost half the bottle, making him dip back down several times to rinse.

"I wish we could use conditioner," Tersa murmured, "and rinse him off with clean water." The tub was the consistency of muddy soup by now.

"Next time," I said, handing her an armful of towels that Rosemary had brought in, and a clean shirt and pants that I recognized as Thaddeus's. Wild Boy watched my approach and retreat with alert eyes but no growl.

"We've pushed our luck and his patience enough," I murmured. "Let's dry him off."

Getting him dressed was another pantomime play. Once he understood that Tersa wanted him to take off his pants, he dropped them without a shred of modesty. Tersa calmly averted her eyes and handed him first the jeans, and then the oxford shirt. The latter she had to help button up when he didn't seem familiar with the process. A brilliant choice, that shirt. His sight was never blocked as it would have been had they pulled a T-shirt over his head. And no underwear or socks, just the two basic articles of clothing.

We left his hair to dry naturally. The whine of a blow-dryer would have been beyond bearing for all our nerves, I think.

The hard part actually came when Tersa moved to change out of her wet dress. Rosemary had brought her a change of clothes, leaving them on the bed. Chami stepped outside to give her privacy. Wild Boy, though, didn't like it when Tersa tried to shut the bathroom door, closing him in. He growled and pushed the door open. Neither did he like it when Tersa stepped into the bathroom herself and started to close the door, leaving him out in the bedroom. Another warning growl. We finally ended up with me holding two towels in front of her while she changed, leaving the discarded dress a sopping heap on the floor. I scooped up the dripping bundle and stuck it in the bathtub, wiped the soaked bathroom tiled floor with the damp towels, and left everything in the bathtub for someone else to clean up later.

"What now?" Tersa asked, blinking sleepy eyes. Dawn had risen an hour ago and the sun was a low ball in the sky. No way of seeing it: The inside shutters had been closed over the windows and thick black-lined velvet curtains were drawn over them. But I could feel it with sharp awareness with a knowing part of me.

A Mixed Blood, Tersa wasn't affected by the sun as the others were, their bodies growing weary and leaden, sleep pressing like a heavy blanket upon them. When she yawned, it was simply because her body had adjusted to the cycle. Awake at night. Asleep during the day. Now it was time to sleep.

I gestured to the bed. "Think he'll sleep here?"

"Not alone," she replied.

It was hard to think. Like her, my body had become accustomed to the nightly hours we kept. And it had been a long night for me. For all of us. I forced my sluggish mind to think. I didn't like leaving Tersa alone with Wild Boy.

Should I have Chami stay down here with them? No, scratch that. Accustomed though Wild Boy seemed to him, Tersa wouldn't be comfortable sleeping in the other man's presence. That left me. But after all I'd been through tonight, I needed some time alone to think, to shore up my battered heart, to push back my fears and hurt.

Rosemary saved me by poking her head through the door. "I'll stay here with them, milady."

I nodded. As I stumbled out of the room, Rosemary slipped in, the door closing softly behind her. Chami stood up from where he'd been sitting with his back against the wall. He moved without his usual grace and quickness, the only visible sign that he was feeling the soporific effects of the sun.

"Where's Dontaine?" I asked.

"I sent him upstairs. He's bunking with me tonight."

"Good choice." Dontaine may have been wounded, but he was healing fast. He was a stranger and powerful. Formerly Mona Louisa's, maybe still hers. Chami would keep an eye on him.

"Thanks, Chami, for everything tonight." I trudged down the hallway, heading, I hoped, for the spiral staircase that would lead me to my bedroom. "You were great."

"You thank me?"

Something in his voice made me stop and turn around.

Chami wore an almost incredulous look. "When I had failed you?"

I frowned. "You were perfect with Wild Boy there. Quiet, non-threatening."

He gave a low, harsh laugh. "I did nothing."

"Doing nothing was exactly what I needed you to do. How do you see that as failing me?"

"I did not help you stop Dontaine from fighting Amber when you asked me for my aid."

Ah. The challenge. It seemed so long ago now. I'd forgotten about it. Chami obviously hadn't. I sighed, gathered my wits about me. "That was my fault. I should not have asked you."

Chami flinched as if I'd struck him.

"I meant that I should have known better. Killing is what you do best, and I did not want Dontaine killed."

"Yes, killing is what I do best," Chami confirmed quietly, his lean face inscrutable. Chameleon. He was still: Not the way humans are still, but completely immobile in the way reptiles are. Utterly. So that you aren't sure for a moment if they are real, living and breathing, or just a stuffed replica.

"I used to hate doing that," he said, speaking softly, without passion, without inflection. "Ending someone's life without any warning, without any chance. Whether they deserved to die or not. Very uneven odds with my ability to remain unseen. Few detected me. Sliding my knife into them was so easy that it felt like I was cheating. I used to hate it when other Queens prized me for that talent, and expected me to serve them in that manner." He gave a humorless laugh. "I didn't know how I had grown to depend upon that skill until I failed you. Twice now."

"Are we back to Kadeen again?" Kadeen had been the demon dead who had snatched me. "You and Amber almost died trying to stop him. You did not fail me. If anyone failed, it was me. I failed to protect you."

"It is not a Queen's duty—"

"It's a Queen's duty to care for her men."

"Not by physically fighting."

"Why not?"

"That is not what we expect of our Queens," Chami said gently.

"Chami," I said, equally gently, "in case you haven't noticed, I'm not like other Queens."

He laughed. A real laugh this time. "I could not fail to notice that."

I smiled, feeling a small glow of pleasure. Each rare laugh from my men felt like winning a prize. "You served me well just now, being there in case I needed you. But not being in the way. You serve me well by being a mentor to the younger ones, by teaching them how to use a dagger, how to protect themselves. By distracting them from me when you see that I'm uncomfortable. By being thoughtful." I cupped his lean cheek tenderly. "You don't have to kill anyone to serve me, Chami. You can serve me best by looking after my brother, keeping him safe."

His hand came up to cover mine, press it against his face. "That I can vow to do with all my heart. Thaddeus is very special to us all."

"Thank you. You have a wonderful way with the kids, you know. They look up to you." Only because my hand was against his skin did I feel the slight warmth. I lowered my hand to see if what I suspected was true.

"Chami, are you blushing?"

He didn't seem to know what to say. I took pity on the poor fellow. "Now, if you really, really want to serve me, you can help me find my way to that damn staircase so I can climb up to my room and crawl into bed."

"As my lady wishes."

We found the staircase and he headed off to his room while I headed in the opposite direction toward mine. But when I rounded the corridor, I knew that sweet blissful sleep was still a ways off. Gryphon sat in front of my door. Obviously waiting for me. Obviously wanting to talk to me.

"May I speak with you?" he asked.

Sometimes I hate being right.

My footsteps grew even heavier. Wanting to talk to your lover first, without wanting to jump her bones, was never a good sign. My heart pounded with dread, with what I feared most. He was going to leave me.

Gryphon rose to his feet as I nodded. Without a word, I opened my door, walked in, and felt him enter behind me, a soft presence. A sitting room next to one's bedroom was a good idea, actually. I sat on the plush sofa. Gryphon took a seat across from me, not next to me. Another bad, bad sign.

Unconsciously, I rubbed my chest, trying to ease the achy feeling there beneath my breastbone as I looked at Gryphon. My first love. He was as beautiful to me now as when I had first seen him—the ebony black fall of his hair like a shiny cascade of darkness about him. The pearl white glow of his skin like flawless porcelain. His hauntingly lovely eyes, crystal blue and clear. That beautiful full lush mouth, red like a river of passion, as tempting as Eve's apple. The first time we'd met, the moment my eyes had fallen upon him, something elemental inside of me had recognized him—mate—and had reached out to him.

"You no longer desire me," Gryphon said, breaking the silence.

I let my hand drop from my chest when I became aware that I was rubbing it. "No, I desire you still. I will always desire you."

His lovely eyes were sad, so sad. A liquid pool of unhappiness. "You say that and yet you sit there, far apart from me. You cannot bear to touch me after I told you what I had been."

I was suddenly confused. He'd been the one to sit apart from me. Hadn't he? "What are you talking about?"

"You are angry with me. Disgusted with me tonight, after I told you how others had used me."

"I was angry with you because you put my hand on another man's groin."

He shook his head, eyes downcast. "You say that is the reason, but that is not the true reason." And incredibly, he seemed to believe that.

"Gryphon, what you did before, what others did to you, does not matter to me. It's you, us, now that matters. I'm angry with you because you threw me at another man. Because you left a poor boy alone, shackled like an animal, when you could have freed him much sooner."

"I did not know what to do with the boy. And when you ran from me and from Dontaine…" He looked up and something like hope glimmered in his eyes. "Is it really as you say?"

"Having my lover wanting me to sleep with another man is not a small thing to me, Gryphon."

"We are Monère, Mona Lisa. We are not human."

"You keep saying that. But I am part human."

"If I could acquire gifts as easily as you, I would sleep with Dontaine myself in the hopes of passing it to you," he said quietly. And, dear Mother of God, he really meant it.

"But other Queens," he continued, "other men do not gain gifts and powers as you seem to. Sandoor and his band of rogues. They had a Queen who they bedded for over ten years, and they did not gain much power from the matings or the Baskings. But one time with you—" He turned his palms up in a graceful gesture. " — and Amber and I can walk in the sun. You can see with my falcon's clarity of vision, and have gained some of Amber's great strength."

"Terrific. So I'm even more of a freak than I thought, like a sexual vampire who sucks up gifts instead of blood."

"You give generously as well as acquire."

I smiled bitterly. "Puts a whole new spin on being a generous and giving lover."

Gryphon ignored my sarcasm. "I believe what you say is true. You give more when you make love."

"And maybe I do that because I don't sleep with every man that walks by me, even those thrown at me," I said gently.

That quieted Gryphon for a moment. Gave him something to ponder. "Perhaps that is the case," he said finally.

"I only want you and Amber."

He looked at me with solemn eyes. "Amber I can see why. But me—"

"How can you doubt that when every woman who looks at you desires you?"

His eyes turned hard and scornful. "They desire only my body, my flesh."

"I'm guilty as well. I desire your body. You have a beautiful body," I said softly.

His eyes grew heavy-lidded. One look from those slumberous eyes and I suddenly burned.

"You are different," Gryphon said, his voice a low husky timbre that sent a silvery shiver like an invisible hand sweeping down my spine. "You desire not only my body but my heart. My very soul."

"Do I have your heart?" I asked.

"It beats only for you."

"Oh, Gryphon." I reached for him and was suddenly in his arms, held tight. "I thought you were leaving me," I whispered against his neck.

"I thought you wished me gone."

"Never. No matter how mad you make me. Don't leave me. Don't ever leave me again."

"No," he promised, carrying me into the bedroom, his heart beating strong against me. "No, I won't."

He set me down beside the bed and swiftly removed my clothes. And as he undressed me, the anger and the fear suddenly changed into something else. Into something hot and possessive and tender. I brushed my fingers across the back of his nape and felt the soft feathery down hidden there like a secret pleasure. The scent of him, that faint fresh clean scent that was just him filled my lungs. Gryphon.

I'd be able to pick him out from a hundred other men blindfolded just from that unique fragrance. He smelled like the wind, like the night, like soft fluffy feathers and gentle kisses, sweet passion.

Other women had wanted him, had possessed him, had used him. But now he was mine and I wanted to wash away their old scents, rub off their long faded touch, their greedy, grasping imprints. Smudged fingerprints on the window of his soul.

He'd pleased so many. But had they pleased him? Had they tried to find his pleasure, his desire?

I pushed away from Gryphon. "Let me," I said, my voice a low soft whisper as he reached for me. "No, don't touch me." I captured his eyes, captured his hands, and lowered them down to his side. "Let me please you."

He looked into the promise of my eyes and shivered.

"Let me undress you," I breathed.

Both of us watched as I lifted one hand and brought it to the first button on his shirt. One infinitesimal moment stretched long before I finally touched it, and his breath caught as if I had touched other things. Leisurely I circled one finger around the smooth rim of that button. His muscles tightened. I looked up into his eyes and smiled. Unhurriedly, I pushed the button through the hole, skimmed my finger lightly down to the next hole. Slowly, I unveiled him, a beautiful hidden masterpiece, unwrapping him bit by bit like the sweet present he was. He was a breathtaking symmetry of flowing grace, of strength and power, a gentle river of muscles and tendons, bone and flesh, perfect in its creation. A worthy, worthy gift.

His shirt fell to the floor and I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest with complete absorption, full appreciation. He was like God's first creation. Broad graceful shoulders, the gentle swell of smooth chest, honey colored nipples that I suddenly ached to taste. I knew them to be as delicious as they looked, sweet to the tongue, pleasing and responsive to the hand. Heat flooded me and the flesh between my legs grew throbbingly soft and full. Aching. But I held myself still, not touching him. Not yet. Not yet.

His eyes were darker now, the pupils expanded, racing to the very rim, his irises completely swallowed up. Holding his gaze, I sank to my knees before him, ran my eyes like a tactile caress down the long length of him, letting them feast over what I would not allow myself to touch just yet. Letting them drop lower. My breathing quickened and his stomach ridged as I reached out my hand and laid it there, barely there on top of his pants, and gave a slow, one-fingered caress over the top edge of the cloth, my fingers brushing the silky hair dusting his abdomen and trailing tantalizingly down below the pants, but not touching skin. Another leisurely sweep around and around the rim of the single button on his pants. Just below that little button lay a larger, longer, throbbing thing. I felt my breath puff against my hand and caress his flesh.

He shuddered. I trembled.

"Mona Lisa." His voice was a bare rasp.

"Shhh," I gently whispered.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, I pushed that button through its hole, and carefully holding the zipper, touching nothing else, I lowered it. The harsh metallic rasp of it coming down tightened my nipples, brushing like fingers of sound over my swollen secret parts. Kneeling like a supplicant before him, my naked breasts a gentle sway away from touching him, from rubbing against his legs, I pushed down his pants, revealing him whole, bare, and beautiful.

No underwear. What a lovely surprise.

I gave a hum of pleasure, of appreciation as I looked my fill. He bobbed before me in standing glory, darkly flushed, wonderfully engorged, his full veins transversing the surface like dark satiny ropes. A drop of pearl-white fluid trembled at the very tip. My tongue flicked out, licking my lips, but only my quickened breath touched him, caressed him. His hands clenched. I looked up and up at him, and smiled as if I had swallowed his cream.

"Dear Goddess," Gryphon breathed. "Mona Lisa, you're killing me."

"I haven't even started." It was a dark promise.

Crouching down, dropping to my hands, I crawled slowly, sinuously around him and rose on my knees behind him, my breath a soft puff on his back. And then lower. My hands came to rest on his hips, and at that first contact of skin to skin, Gryphon inhaled a shaky breath. Exhaled sharply as I slid my hands around him in front, like two slithering serpents wrapping around him. Forgot to breathe when they twined around the base of his tree and slid up his long hard sprouting length.

One thumb smoothed over his weeping head, dipping into the wet prize, smoothing it over his sensitive crown. His buttocks tightened and flex. Irresistible. I didn't even try to resist. One hand went south unerringly to cup his lower sac. The other hand wrapped around him in a squeezingly tight grip, pumped down and back up his sturdy pole. He sucked in another breath and quivered as my thumb smoothed over the crown, smearing more liquid pre-come over the plump head as I swept over the top. All by feel alone. I didn't need my eyes to see what I was doing. I knew him intimately.

On the downward stroke, holding his shaft tight and fisted hard, I squeezed his balls with firm, gentle pressure. Giving into temptation, I sank my teeth into the tantalizing fullness of his left buttock cheek, just below the teasing dimple near the base of his spine. He gave a low hoarse cry as my teeth sank in, breaking skin, tasting his blood, tasting him. Sweet, salty. Gryphon. Like the nectar of life.

He cried as I pumped his hard swollen shaft again, as I lifted and squeezed his hard balls together up against the base of him, as I swirled over his head with sliding, gliding, lubricating friction, giving a passing, pinching caress with forefinger and thumb just below his underridge where the nerves collected in a rich sensating bundle.

His hands came down to grip my arms. Not to stop me, but to hold himself as his knees buckled. I caught him, lifted him easily in my arms, and laid him down on the red silk bed sheets like a divine pale offering. His eyes were dazed and wide, his gaze fastened upon my lips, on the drop of blood dotting the right corner of my mouth. He watched, breathing fast, as my pink tongue came out and licked that crimson drop into my mouth, tasting him again with sultry appreciation.

"You taste like life," I said. "Like moonlight itself."

I crawled over him and crouched down, lowering my mouth to his. "Taste yourself," I whispered and kissed him. A soft press of my lips against his. A promising lick, a rasping of tongue. His mouth parted and I delicately entered. Our tongues swirled, danced, mated. And then he was in my mouth, thrusting, thrusting, his tongue moving in and out in an act as old as time immortal, making me gasp, making me burn. Making my honey flow, wetting me, and filling the air with its sweet musky scent, with our scent. Blood and sex. A potent combination.

I pulled back, panting. Licked my lips and tasted him, blood and saliva. But it was another fluid I was suddenly hungry for.

"Let me touch you," he pleaded.

I looked up at him. Let him see my wicked grin. "No, it's just you this time. You. Let me please you, let me pleasure you." Bending low, I slithered over him, slithered down him, touching him with just my nipples. I rubbed my tight raspberry points over his peaked nubs, circled them together, pleasing us both, and ran them in twin lines of fire down his hard chest, his ridged abdomen, past his hips. I parted his legs, spread them with my knees, slid down into the space I had created. The springy hair of his groin was like a tickling kiss on my chest, his hard smooth length like a pulsing satin rod, soft and hard against my cheek. I rubbed my face against him, rolled him over my jaw, against my neck, inhaling him, drinking in the smooth incomparable feel of him, teasing us both until I could wait no more and I turned my face and took him into the hot wet cavern of my mouth. He slid in with a sigh, with a groan. With a tightening of his entire body and an inner clenching of mine.

"Dear Goddess. Sweet Goddess," he gasped and lifted his hips, arching into me, pushing deeper into the greedy wet suction of my mouth. I pulled back, up, up, to the very tip and tasted him, swirling my tongue over him, over that blind weeping eye, another rich essence of him. And I hummed my satisfaction.

With my eyes closed, I felt him begin that wondrous dance of light. A drawing of the inner life up into the outer being. My eyes opened and watched the beautiful subtle glow start to take him, to sweep across the pure alabaster of his skin with a cool white blush, growing more and more brilliant. To seep into his very skin, become part of it. Change him from a creature of the night into a creature of glorious light, his skin glowing, radiating from him in shafts of light that filled the room. He was unearthly beautiful in his pleasure. And his pleasure became mine, and that inner light began its eager dance within me. My skin changed, softened, glowed, and it was as if our very flesh softened, dissolved, became no more. We melded into one another where we touched, skin against skin, and then it was just light touching light, becoming one.

I filled my mouth with him, sinking down so that my lips almost touched his base, almost enveloped him whole, my lips tight around him. My right hand reached down between us, dipping down to borrow some of my own liquid honey, rising back up to squeeze his balls because I could not resist their hanging temptation, then moving farther behind, up and back, until my questing slick finger found and circled his tightly puckered anal hole.

My other hand squeezed his left ass cheek, finding where I had branded him and bit him, and I circled that tender broken skin. He trembled beneath me, in my mouth. I stroked up and out, my lips tight, grazing his veiny surface with my teeth as I swept up his pole, my tongue circling him. Finding him at the top, my tongue swept over that blind tender slit that oozed the sweet essence of him.

I pierced him with my tongue, that little hole. Penetrated him with my finger at his other, forbidden hole. And probed him with yet another finger, digging into the broken skin where I had bitten him, abrading raw, tender flesh.

He cried out sharply, sweetly, and convulsed around my finger and in my mouth. And feeling his hot jetting stream filling me, tasting him, feeling him slide down my throat as his sphincter spasmed strongly around my forefinger like a tight little mouth, gripping me, oh, so sweetly, his wet blood from where I had branded him slicking my other fingertip…

The taste, the feel, the flooding of me with his essence brought me to my own release, an almost gentle wave of pulsing, quiet convulsing. And while my body still quivered, I found myself hauled up his, his heart thudding against mine. I wrapped my arms around him, held him tight as the last of the light was absorbed back into us and we were two separate beings once more, two separate skins. "Mine," I whispered fiercely against his neck. "You are mine."

"Yes, I am yours. Body, heart, and soul," he breathed, a soughing surrender, holding me tightly to him, soft bemused wonderment in his voice. "And you are mine."