Serpent's Kiss

ELEVEN

Carling coughed out an incredulous laugh that had nothing to do with amusement. The snarl that came out of Rune sounded infuriated, guttural. “Get the hell out and SHUT THAT GODDAMN DOOR.”

There was a frozen moment, filled only with Rasputin’s frenzied barking. Carling closed her eyes and leaned into Rune’s hot body, and his arms tightened on her in a hard, possessive hold. Then Rhoswen slammed the door, the sharp wooden report echoing through the shadowed cottage.

A corner of Carling’s mind worked hard to process what just happened. The rest of her was shaking with the aftermath of the firestorm that had swept through her. She felt like a drug addict coming down off a high. Rune knelt on one knee as he held her. His heartbeat thundered in her ear. His T-shirt hung in shreds off his tightly bunched biceps, and his body vibrated with such tension he felt poised to attack something.

Then he released the tension on a sigh, and she felt his body flow back into its normal lines. He stroked her hair, threading his fingers through the loose, tangled strands. He said roughly, “You all right?”

She gave him a jerky nod. It was almost a complete lie. Need still pulsed low in her pelvis, a sharp, empty pain that was shocking in its intensity. She didn’t recognize herself in the untamed creature that had launched at Rune.

He said, “I’ll be damned if I apologize for any of that.”

She stirred and managed to find her voice. “What would you apologize for?”

“Throwing my own shit fit. Yelling at Rhoswen.”

“I’ll make a pact with you,” she whispered. “If you don’t apologize, I won’t either.”

“It’s a deal.” He kissed her temple. Then, after a pause, he said, “She interrupted us deliberately, you know.”

“I know.” Carling sighed. Rhoswen hadn’t been caught by surprise. She would have heard them before she ever reached the cottage door. “She was completely inappropriate.”

Rhoswen had achieved her objective, however; she had destroyed the raw out-of-control moment Carling and Rune had been engaged in.

Rune settled his weight back on his heels as he released her. Full night had descended, and the only illumination in the cottage came from the moon that had risen. Even though it had begun to wane, it held tremendous Power, spilling through the windows and limning the edges of their bodies with a delicate lattice of silver. For a long moment she sat still and let him look at her, the fluted wings of her collarbones, the full ripe globes of her bare breasts with their plump jutting nipples and the shadowed indentation of her narrow rib cage underneath.

He crouched over her like the giant cat that he was, looking as if he were about to pounce, unblinking intensity in his moon-silvered gaze, his wide shoulders bowed as he leaned on one fist he had planted on the floor beside her hip. An aftershock of urgency rolled out of him and into her, but their earlier frenzy had splintered with such a crash, it left her feeling slightly sick.

She looked down to pull her ruined caftan up her torso, and he helped her to find edges of the material to knot together to cover her temporarily, his long-fingered hands so gentle that the alien, traitorous tears filled her eyes again.

For so long she had treated her own body like a weapon, and yet he treated it like it was a temple. It made her feel ludicrously fragile, as though she might shatter into pieces without his high regard, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

“We need to get to the city,” he said quietly. “And get a move on all the things we talked about.”

Wariness touched her. Reluctant to start the whole ridiculous argument again, she just nodded and kept her tone noncommittal. “Yes.”

He watched her closely. “I was jealous.”

She froze, and her eyes widened. “You were—what?”

He leaned over to whisper in her ear, his warm breath caressing her cheek. “You heard me. I said I was jealous. I am not apologizing. I am explaining.”

Then as she turned her head to stare at him, he did pounce. His hands snaked up to grip her by the head as he brought his mouth down to hers. He hovered there, deliberately brushing his taut lips against hers as he breathed, “I was jealous of the Demonkind, your Djinn, whom you’ve known for so god-damn long and bargained with every appearance of goddamn amicability, who needed you and you were there for him in such a meaningful, Powerful way he bargained away three goddamn favors, and you don’t have to say anything because I already know how stupid that sounds. So I acted like an ass. A stupid, crazy, illogical, senseless, rampantly jealous ass.”

She gripped his wrists and started to shake again. “Rune.”

“And I was jealous,” said the gryphon, speaking from the back of his throat as he made his words into a burning caress, “because I want you so bad, it’s messing with my thinking. It’s a hook in my gut I can’t pull out. I’ve wanted you ever since that evening on the Adriyel River. I dream about taking you. And in my dream, you take me too. Just like what nearly happened here on the floor.”

Her unsteadiness increased, until her mouth trembled under his. His wrists felt iron-hard and rock-steady under her shaking fingers. “That’s enough now, stop. We—we need to go.”

“All right,” he murmured easily. “I just wanted us to be clear about what almost happened here. This was not a fluke. I am going to come after you again.”

She sucked in air. She whispered, “This—thing between us—”

“This isn’t a ‘thing.’ ” He pressed a quick kiss onto her mouth. “It’s attraction.”

She shook all over. “It’s totally inappropriate.”

“I know.”

“It can’t last. It’s got nowhere to go.”

“I get that.” He bit her lower lip and held her with such careful tension she wanted to claw the last of his clothes off of him. “But think about how good it will be until it ends. Because it will happen, Carling.”

Will happen, he said. Not could happen. Because he was going to come after her again, sometime, somewhere, and the thought of him on the prowl made her groan. Then his hands opened and he let her go. Just like that.

Just like that? Her hands clung to his wrists as his hands fell from her head; she found herself leaning forward, reaching for his mouth with hers as he pulled away, her gaze falling along the clean lines of his face that was shadowed gray and black, and limned with the faintest touch of shining silver, as if he were gilded with the moon’s eldritch blessings that were just barely visible to the naked eye.

“Rune,” she murmured again, and the previous shock in her voice turned throaty.

“Darling Carling,” he said very low. He paused and shuddered, and something like pain caused his face to spasm. “Just fucking say it.”

Desire is vulnerability. But they were all alone, just them and the moonlight, and the moon never told the secrets of what she saw. So Carling took hold of every scrap of her courage and said it.

“I want you too.”

The moon opened wide its invisible sails and soared through the starred sky over the island’s redwood forest. It was already night again. Carling struggled against a sense of disorientation. When she had lost the ability to sleep, time had increased in velocity. Meditation helped but only to a certain extent. There were no longer any breaks in her experience, just the relentless cascade of events, until she felt like she was being shoved into the future by a gigantic unseen force, faster and faster until she approached the speed of light.

She walked into the trees. Far overhead the moonlight filtering through branches was a study in ivory and black. At ground level the forest was so shadowed, only her sharp Vampyric vision allowed her to pick her way along the path. She paused to listen to the tiny night sounds. Once there would have been total silence when she walked through this wood, but the creatures that lived here had long since grown accustomed to her presence.

Rune agreed to wait for her on the beach. He wanted to come with her, but she needed to be alone to do this one last thing before she left the island. He said he would give her a half hour. If she had not returned by then, he was going to assume she had gone into a fade and come looking for her. Carling didn’t argue with him. There was nothing here that would hurt her, but even so she didn’t like the idea of sitting helpless and unaware, alone in the forest.

She tucked her research journals into a worn leather bag, along with the papyrus sketches and a few other odds and ends from the cottage, and she gave it to Rune to take with him. When he had left, she dug through a cupboard for another clean, intact caftan, which she donned after throwing the ruined one away. So he hated her caftans, did he? She snorted. How many had she ruined in the last couple of days? There was a reason she wore them so much. They were easy on, easy off. She tended to be very hard on clothing, especially when she was engaged in matters of magic.

After dressing, she came to the forest to find her usual spot, a dark squat stone that was so old that time had melted its rough edges smooth. It made for a good seat. She settled herself on its cool, hard surface and waited.

It was one of her favorite places in the world. The ferns and orchids that thrived under the towering redwoods provided a scene of generosity and extravagance to someone from her old desert roots. This place had its own kind of Power, green ancient dreams filled with an endless parade of sunlit days and moon-traveled nights, and the wild crash of sea-blown storms.

She listened until she felt a faint nudge against her awareness. It was not so much a sound that was distinguishable from any other of the small noises in the night, but more of a presence that touched the edge of her Power with shy delicate fingers, and she knew she was no longer alone.

“I came to tell you,” she said in a quiet voice to the winged creatures she never quite saw full-on in daylight. “I have to leave now. I will try to come back. I wish I could say I will return but I don’t know if I will be able to, so I left as many protections for you as I could.” She had worked with Duncan, and had left legal safeguards and magical wards in place, but neither laws nor magic were immune to time. Things arrived on this earth and they passed from it; still, at least she knew she had tried her best.

It was one more obligation she had released. She could come to like this growing sense of freedom, all except for the dying bit. Then without her conscious permission a truth slipped out of her mouth, the words winging into the darkness like freed dragonflies.

She whispered, eyes stinging, “I will miss you.”

For so long, she had felt all but dead, more intellect than emotion. Now after so many arid centuries, her soul was undergoing a renaissance of feeling. But rebirth, like change, was hard, and the well of tears she had discovered seemed to be inexhaustible.

Something rustled, then other tiny noises joined it, and she heard wings in truth overhead. As she looked up, a length of softness touched her cheek. She reached up to grasp it.

It was a feather, like the one left as a present for her on her windowsill. She couldn’t see it in the shadows, but she knew the feather would be an iridescent black. Then more softness touched her, on the face, the neck, her hands, as the forest creatures flew overhead and showered her with feathers spiraling down, like the gentle nourishment of midnight rain.

She wiped her eyes and straightened her spine. Her past had become as uncertain as her future. Time had become a crucible burning everything away. There could be no greater or profound crisis.

But this much she could know. In both versions of her past she had been born into poverty and taken as a slave. And in both versions she had reached for immortality and had become a Queen.

I didn’t change you, Rune had said. Not you, not your soul or spirit.

She finally understood what he meant.

“I know who I am again,” she whispered.

And I will take ownership of this new life as well, for however long I may have it.

Rune slung Carling’s bag on one shoulder, collected his duffle bag from the main house, and went down the bluff to wait for Carling on the beach. A briny breeze blew off the water. The cool wet air felt good on his tight, overheated skin. He stripped off his ruined T-shirt and dropped it on the ground by the bags and the waterproof container he’d left on the beach when he arrived. Then he rotated his shoulders to work out the tension that strung his muscles as tight as piano wire.

He felt antsy, just barely over the county line from the land of irrationality. He didn’t like being apart from her. Didn’t she realize how vulnerable she was when she went into a fade? The thought of her caught on a busy city street made him just about break into a sweat. She was one of the most dangerous of the Nightkind or of any of the Elder Races, but now at times she was also one of the most defenseless. It would be such a simple matter to slip a stiletto between her ribs as she stood still and unresisting, her mind locked in another time.

And if being in proximity to one of her episodes could affect him the way it did, who or what else might be affected by it? What other creatures or Powers might be able to slip into her mind or the past, or whatever the fuck was actually happening, to encounter that brave, fierce, painfully fragile tiger cub that was Carling’s child-self?

Do you not study the tools your enemies use? She had said it in passing, and that one question had hinted at a hidden vista of magical tensions and Power plays. He thought of the dark Powers she had talked about, those hungry forces that ate the souls of both victims and black magic practitioners alike. He pictured something coiling around the young Carling like black smoke, and then he did break into a sweat.

He also lost all interest in keeping his promise. As he turned to go search for her, he caught sight of Rhoswen coming down the bluff path. Rhoswen was dressed in a wet suit, her pale hair pinned back in the usual tight chignon, and she carried a bundle in her arms. She had a pair of diver’s swim fins, a dark waterproof bag, and Rasputin’s silent, motionless form. Her cold bitter gaze raked down the length of his body and ran over the bags on the ground, and paused on Carling’s worn leather bag.

“Carling’s leaving?” she asked.

“We’re going to the city to research a few things,” he said.

Even as Rune started to ask about Rasputin’s odd stillness, she tossed her armful, Rasputin and all, to the ground. He lunged forward to snatch up the dog before Rasputin hit the sand. He said, “The hell’s the matter with you?”

The Vampyre curled a lip at him. “Relax, Wyr. The little shit’s in a stasis spell. He wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

Rune studied the dog he held in his hands. Rasputin’s body was lax and warm under thick, luxuriant fur. He wasn’t breathing, but Rune could feel his life force, glowing like a firefly underneath his fingers. An unfamiliar metallic collar at his throat thrummed with magic. Gently Rune manipulated one of his legs. The flesh was pliable under his fingers, and the delicate muscle and bone flexed easily. The dog might not have felt the initial impact, but the stasis spell would not have prevented him from being injured in the fall.

“How long can he stay this way?” he asked.

“For as long as a day or so, until the collar wears down and has to recharge. It’s the same spell Carling used to hold Tiago in stasis when he was bleeding to death. The dog doesn’t know a thing. He’s perfectly fine, more’s the pity.”

He noticed the leg he was flexing was one of Rasputin’s crooked ones. He bent to place the dog carefully on the sand.

Then he pivoted on one heel and sprang at Rhoswen with a snarl. Shock flared across her face. She tried to leap back, but he was far too fast for her to evade.

He locked one hand around her slim neck, lifted her off of the ground and shook her hard. Her body snapped back and forth. Her eyes flared red, her mouth opened wide and fangs sprang out. So did her claws. She raked at his forearm, gouging deep furrows until his blood splattered over the sand.

He ignored it as he yanked the Vampyre close. He said into her distorted face, “Grow the fuck up, you petulant bitch.”

Her claws dug deeper. He felt the scrape as she hit bone. Rhoswen hissed, “I gave her everything.”

“Oh, you did not,” he said, exasperated. He slammed her into the ground with such force he could hear as well as feel something snap in her body. A strangled cry broke out of her. Her back arched as she tried to flip out of his hold. “Shut up. You’ll heal. Which is more than I can say for Rasputin if he’d broken his neck when you dropped him.”

“Come on,” she gasped. She clawed at his arm again. “You don’t care about that horrible little creep any more than I do.”

“I understand him better than you think. He’s an alpha dog. There’s not a thing wrong with him that some obedience training wouldn’t fix.” He bent over her. “I also don’t go around killing or maiming just because things haven’t gone my way. You got handed a pink slip. Get over it.”

“She threw me away like garbage.” Tears glittered in the Vampyre’s red gaze.

“Did she, now. Did she, really.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s been remarkably patient with you, considering. Interrupting us at the cottage? Slamming the door on us like a goddamn teenager? You would have been happy just now if you had hurt her dog.”

Rhoswen didn’t say anything, but he could see the truth in her eyes. She had wanted to hurt Carling and had, in all seriousness, hoped Rasputin would get injured.

“You know,” he said. “Dragos would have filleted you by now, if you had acted out around him the way you have acted around Carling.”

Rhoswen looked at him with loathing. She spat out, “She only got rid of me when you came along.”

“Were you her lover? Did she cheat on you?” He paused. Rhoswen glared at him but remained silent. He said, “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that’s a no. Did she really have to get rid of her servant just because I came along? Wait, here it comes again: no.”

“She needed me. She didn’t have anybody else. You changed all that.”

Okay, that was getting a little too unbalanced for him. He said, “I can see there’s no talking sense to you. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

He shifted his hold on her, grabbing her by the arm and the leg. She tried to escape again, bucking her body hard, but he held her easily as he stood up. Then he threw her down the beach and walked after her as she tumbled head over heels on the sand.

Rhoswen caught herself and came up on her hands and knees. As he approached, the Vampyre watched with an animalistic cunning, all trace of humanity gone from her distorted features.

He had faced them so many times before, Powerful children who rampaged like drunken godlings, profligate with their gifts as they brutalized more vulnerable creatures in fits of sullenness. He had no patience for it. He squatted down in front of her, leaned his healing forearm on one knee and regarded her calmly. Gradually the snarl faded from her expression, to be replaced with a flicker of fear.

She knew better than to try to attack him, even though he could see how badly she wanted to. He said, “You’ve been good to Carling in the past, so even though I am tempted, I will not kill you. You are going to leave now, and maybe someday you’ll realize that life is not all about you. Then again, maybe you won’t. I don’t really give a shit either way. But what you will do is stay the hell away from both Carling and that dog, because if you don’t, I will tear the limbs from your body and burn them on a pyre while you watch. Vampyres can live for a very long time that way.”

She whispered, “You wouldn’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I have.”

The fear in her face grew. He saw that he had shaken her at last. He really didn’t know why people always forgot he had this side to him.

“I can’t even say good-bye?” She didn’t even try to pull the pitiful card or to appeal to his better nature; she just asked it in a flat, matter-of-fact voice as her red, fascinated gaze clung to his.

“No,” he said. “Not after the shit you’ve pulled. I don’t trust you now. If I see you again, I will kill you. No excuses, no conversations, no second chances. Do we understand each other?”

She held his gaze as she raised her fingers to her mouth and licked away his blood. “We understand each other quite well, I think,” said Rhoswen.

He stood, hands on his hips and watched the Vampyre dive into the ocean. She did not resurface. After several minutes of waiting to make sure, he scooped up the dog, tucked him in the crook of his elbow and went in search of Carling. He met her on the path to the forest.

Carling studied Rune curiously as she walked toward him. She was growing almost used to the mélange of unfamiliar emotions that started rioting the moment she laid eyes on him. He was shirtless, dressed only in jeans, boots and the bright silver cascade of moonlight, and his powerful body moved with liquid feline grace. His chest was heavy with the muscles of a swordsman, a light sprinkling of hair arrowing down the long taut abdomen.

She had no racing pulse for him to detect, and she put her hands behind her back to hide how much they started to shake as he grew close. Then she caught the rich iron scent of blood, his blood, and she noticed Rasputin’s small form in his arms and suddenly she was running toward them.

As she reached him, he said in a calm voice, “Don’t worry. Everything’s all right.”

She touched Rasputin and scanned both dog and collar magically even as she searched Rune with her gaze. The dog was fine, the collar working as it should. She tried not to be affected by the play of shadows along Rune’s bare torso but found it to be impossible. He had no softness anywhere, not even an ounce of extra padding that civilization gave to so many creatures. He was all ridges and hollows, and the thick flex of hard-used muscle underneath the flow of skin. Even though he was standing relaxed beside her, his breathing slow and unhurried, the force of his presence punched the air.

Then she found the marks. The long scores ran the length of his forearm. They were faint in the moonlight and fading fast. She touched them and ran her fingertips lightly along his skin. They were claw marks, made by a hand very similar in size to hers.

Rage locked up her body. She said, “Rhoswen did this.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“This is not ‘nothing,’ ” she murmured. The wounds had gone deep, maybe to the bone. The heavy scent of blood lingered in the air. The scent was as intoxicating as she had imagined his blood would taste. She saw that he had bled on his jeans. “Did she taste you?”

A long-fingered hand came under her chin. He eased her face up. His head was bent over hers, his expression mild, the lean features peaceful, those lion’s eyes clear. “You’re smoking around the edges, darling,” he said gently. She was, too. He could sense in his mind’s eye the fury spreading through her aura.

“Did she taste you?”

He went immobile, staring, his expression arrested. Then his beautiful carved mouth lifted at the corners, just a little. He said, “She tasted the blood on her fingers.”

Carling’s long dark eyes flashed ruby red in the light of the silver moon.

Rune caught her by the arm as she started toward the house. “She’s gone. I’ve already drop-kicked her on her way.”

Carling struggled to take in what he said. The rage was an overriding force with a life all its own. It bucked against her attempt to control it. “What did she do?”

“She was indulging in petty vengefulness,” Rune told her. He raised his hand to turn her face back to him. His smile had disappeared. He looked serious. “I’ve warned her to stay away, so if you see her, don’t trust her, Carling.”

“I won’t,” she said.

He slid his fingers in the heavy hair at her nape and bent his head. She was already lifting her face to him as he gave her a soft, lingering kiss. All the passion from the cottage was still there, still burning hot, underneath the gentle, leisurely caress. His enjoyment of the kiss for its own sake allowed her to relax and enjoy it too. None of the distant memories of her previous sexual experiences held this dimension. The pleasures of sex had seemed perfunctory, and the few lovers she had taken too self-involved, so much so that she had grown bored and stopped taking lovers altogether. Intrigued by the foreign concept of sexual affection, she moved her lips experimentally under his. The serrated edge of her rage eased into a smooth murmuring pleasure. She found herself leaning toward him, tilting her face further.

He slid his free arm around her and pulled her against his body, keeping the kiss easy. She spread her flattened hands across the broad expanse of his chest, and the feeling of his naked skin under her palms was so erotic, she almost sank to her knees.

As hot as her rage had flashed, this flashed hotter. She felt like she had been starving for an eternity, trapped in a black, sense-deprivation oubliette for so long she was only just beginning to realize how much her soul had been screaming. She broke into a spasm of uncontrollable shivering and found herself holding on to him tightly. A sound came out of her and she was shocked anew, for it was nothing she could remember ever hearing herself make before, a raw, shaken groan.

“Shh,” he whispered. He rubbed her back soothingly as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple. He hugged her hard against him. He was so much taller, and so stable in his strength she could imagine him standing in just such a relaxed stance as mountains fell down around him. “We’ll get there, darling. And it will be better than anything. I promise.”

It was such a gentle, nurturing moment and so completely devastating. She turned her face away from his caressing mouth when she wanted nothing more than to lean against him and soak up everything, his scent and his presence, his easy confident affection, that silent roar of Power that continually filled him, that eternal, elemental column of creation’s flame.

All that time she had worked in the acquisition of Power. All that time she had been ruled by ambition. All those centuries that she had lived in such a vast yet fleeting journey, and here he was holding everything she had reached for, not striving, not continually learning to be better, not fighting to acquire any of it. He just was, the mysterious, magical rune, the riddle of a creature that nature decreed should not be able to exist, and yet he did.

She stiffened her spine, bracing herself against the moment. She tried to stiffen her knees and stand on her own, and after a moment she managed to do it. She fought to stop the cascading emotion, to reassert her control, and somehow she found a way to do it.

Then she happened to look down.

Rune was still cuddling her dog in the crook of his arm.

The wild feeling surged back, higher and more devastating than before, and she—the woman who had bargained with demons and stared down monsters, who had counseled pharaohs and created kings, who had once looked into dust-filled shadows of her empty, partially constructed tomb and said no, I will not go there—she broke down and fled.

Rune’s body went into a clench as he looked after Carling’s slender, escaping figure, his eyes narrowed. He took in deep draughts of the cool night air, fighting his instinct to give chase. After a few moments, he followed at a slower pace.

His battle was hard-won, because all of his instincts were roaring to go after her. He wanted to drag her to the ground, tear off that god-awful wretched caftan and spear into her naked body. He wanted to watch her face as she climaxed with him inside of her; he wanted to climax as he watched her beautiful face. He felt immense, full up to bursting and hard as a rock. His erection strained against the zipper of his jeans, and he had nearly come from just the touch of her hands sliding across his chest, from that broken needy little groan Carling—Carling—had made against his mouth.

And the way her eyes had turned that pretty, scary ruby red when he had been hurt was just fucking adorable. He wished he’d seen her fangs descend too. They probably didn’t do that anymore, since she no longer fed on physical nourishment.

But it was kind of a major clue when a lady ran away from a bloke.

That said something, it did. That was a signpost that read: approach with caution. Falling rock up ahead. Handle with care. You’ve come so far with her, much further than you ever thought you’d get. Don’t fucking blow it now, son.

That signpost was one of the busiest he had ever laid eyes on. It had a hell of a lot of text. He figured pausing to read all of that was a good thing.

He hitched Rasputin up higher on his chest and stroked the dog’s soft fur. This was probably the quietest Rune would ever see him.

“I’ve eaten critters that were so much bigger and badass than you are,” he said to the dog. Then he listened to the silence. He sighed and patted Rasputin’s warm little body, and strode forward to meet Carling on the beach.

She was standing at the edge of the shore, holding herself by the elbows and looking over the water. She had packed all the bags in the waterproof container. She looked so beautiful, lonely and defensive, Rune’s heart melted and his cock grew hard, and hells bells, if that wasn’t enough to confuse a bloke, he didn’t know what was.

He weighed his options and decided to stop just a few feet away, not too far but not close enough to spook her either. Then he turned to look over the water too as he tried to figure out if he had any other options available. Further action on his part seemed undesirable at the moment, because he wasn’t at all sure what might make Carling run away again.

So he stood and waited, and he tried to hide how greedy he was as he breathed deep to catch snatches of her scent on the wind. And he wanted with all of his might to go put his arms around her and hold her, just fucking hold her, just rest his head on her shapely, slender shoulder and feel her arms slide around his waist as she hugged him, but that goddamn signpost was busily ticker-taping more text. Now it read: not yet, son. You can’t go there yet. So he petted the dog, and did nothing.

Finally Carling turned. She gave Rune a confused glance. She didn’t feel capable of figuring him out at the moment. The clean lines of his profile, with the bold cheekbones, strong nose and lean jaw, were clearly outlined against the churning foam of the sea. He looked so patient and calm, so completely at odds with the tumultuous mess that was churning inside of her. He looked as if he was prepared to stand there and wait forever for whatever it was he wanted.

Instead of facing him, she turned to face inland. She looked up at the dark sprawl of her crazy-gothic house and wondered if she would ever see it again. She felt a pang and let it go, and it was another release.

She glanced back at Rune. “Ready?” she asked.

She watched him take a deep breath and nod. “Yep,” he said. He turned to her. “You?”

After all Rhoswen’s melodrama, all the internal crash of Carling’s turmoil, and it came to this. Yep. She suddenly found herself smiling and nodded.

He strolled over, and there it was. There was the snapshot she wanted to take of him and keep forever, that easygoing way he had of moving his big body, the intent expression in his eyes as he looked at her that was so much at odds with the deceptive sleepiness on his handsome face, and she realized that sleepy, relaxed look of his was when he was on the prowl and at his most dangerous.

She whispered, “You don’t fool me.”

He gave her his slow, famous, heart-stopping, rock star smile. “You think too much. Where do you want your dog?”

She took Rasputin, wrapped him in Rune’s ruined T-shirt, and tucked him gently into the waterproof container. Rune rubbed the back of his neck and winced as he watched. She said, “You know, he’s perfectly safe traveling this way.”

“I get it,” he said. “He doesn’t need to breathe right now. It just looks disturbing.”

“Short of a little scuba mask, I couldn’t think of any way to get him through the passageway.” She stroked the dog’s soft ear. “And this way he isn’t distressed by the journey. It’s like taking a nap on a car ride. He just goes to sleep and wakes up somewhere else.”

Rune’s face softened. “You love him.”

She kept her head down as she secured the fastening. “I don’t know. I suppose.”

“You totally love him. He’s your widdle snookums.”

She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

“Who kept him when you and Rhoswen traveled to Adriyel?” Rune took the container by its strap and slung it over one shoulder.

“My household staff looks after him when I travel. I don’t think it’s fair to ask that of them all the time, though, which is why I had asked Rhoswen to hire someone to look after him. I think we should drop him off at the town house for now, though, when we get back to the city.”

“I agree. It will free us up to do whatever needs to be done.” He held his free hand out to her. She hesitated only a moment. Then she put her hand in his and they walked into the ocean together.

The water was cold enough it would have sent an unprotected human into hypothermia within minutes. Rune found it just as refreshing as he thought he would. Better than a cold shower. He estimated the crossover passage that ran along a fissure on the ocean floor to be at a depth of around six hundred feet. It was very dark, but the crossover blazed clearly ahead in his mind’s eye.

He mulled the experience over as they swam the passage. It was utterly familiar. Underwater or on land, he had crossed over passageways like this countless times before. And it was almost exactly like the crossover experience he had had during Carling’s episodes, except for that bent feeling, that sense of turning a corner.

Or maybe it was more like folding a piece of paper. For such a dramatic event, the image was rather boring and prosaic. But still there was something to it, an intuitive fit that appealed to him. The two portions of the folded paper existed side by side so close they touched. One portion of the paper was the present. When he crossed to Carling’s past, he was traveling around that tiny, tight fold to stand on the other side.

Only the analogy broke down almost immediately, because there would have to be a countless number of potential folds in the paper to account for every moment in time. But still there was something to the concept of traveling around a bend that was so impossibly small and tight it took up absolutely no space at all. It made sense to him in a way, because . . .

. . . because the concept felt like it might be a direction he could actually follow.

If he hadn’t already been doing so, he would have held his breath.

That feeling could very well be an illusion. He had nothing at all to base it on. He could just as well take a flying leap off a strange cliff into absolute darkness; it felt that dangerous. But he would be very interested to take that feeling into Carling’s next episode.

He realized he was starting to believe that he really was interacting with the past, the actual past, not just what had happened to Carling in her own mind. He was looking forward to finding out what that damn Djinn discovered when Carling set him on the task of finding Rune’s knife.

Either Carling sensed he was deep in thought, or she was preoccupied with thoughts of her own, for they made the trip in almost complete silence. After following the underwater fissure and completing the passage, they kicked upward. On the other side, daylight rippled along the water’s surface. Rune’s lungs had begun to burn by the time they broke the surface on a pale, chill fog-enshrouded day.

They treaded water as they gathered their bearings. Rune asked, “How do other Vampyres make that crossing safely when you never know what time it is going to be on the other side? Rhoswen’s face, hands and part of her feet were exposed.”

Carling shoved her soaking hair out of her eyes. She started to swim, and Rune kicked along beside her. “They can take precautions and dress so they are completely covered before they make the swim,” Carling said. “There is also an underwater tunnel here, and a cave on the other side. When they are coming up from the passageway, they have plenty of time to see whether or not it’s daylight. Then they can stay underwater and swim to either the tunnel or the cave. On this side, the tunnel is part of an old city sewage system.”

“I’ve heard stories about old secret tunnels under San Francisco,” Rune said. “There’re supposed to be Vampyre and opium hangouts.”

“Most people think the stories are an urban legend, but they’re real. They’re not safe and it’s not just because of Vampyres and drug addicts—dangerous creatures live in those tunnels.”

“Coolio,” said Rune. “Sounds like a fun vacation spot.”

Carling shook her head. He was irrepressible. She said, “The particular tunnel I’m talking about is straightforward enough. It leads up to a street-level building with the windows blocked out. Most of the Vampyres don’t take the chance that something might happen in the water and leave them floating exposed to the surface, so they take extra precautions and wrap up from head to toe anyway.”

“I would too.” Rune rolled in the water. “You know, it’s a nice day for a swim and all, but if you’re game, I can get us to shore a lot quicker.”

She looked at him questioningly. “I’m game.”

He kicked around so that his back was to her. “Put your arms around my neck.”

He almost groaned aloud from pleasure as she slipped her cool arms around his neck and her curved body brushed against him. He handed her the container’s strap. She said, “Taking off from the water must be strenuous.”

“It’s not the smoothest way to get in the air,” he said. “So hold on tight.”

Her arms tightened, which pressed her breasts against his back, and his cock stiffened again despite the cold swim. He shook his head hard so that drops flew. Then he kicked into a swim, moving faster and harder as he changed into his Wyr form. He waited until he felt her find her place on his back, her arms still tight around his eagle’s neck as she gripped him with her knees. Then with a massive heave, he lunged up out of the water as his giant wings unfurled and hammered down several times hard and fast.

He had not exaggerated. It was not the smoothest way for a gryphon to take to the air. He basically had to claw his massive body out of the water through sheer strength and speed, but within moments he had them airborne. Carling laughed as he worked into a steep ascent and the tall ghostly lines of the Golden Gate Bridge appeared in the fog ahead of them. He smiled to hear her laughter. She sounded so carefree and full of glee, so unlike the intense, dark-spirited woman who had met him in her great hall just a few days ago.

Then he banked and wheeled into a turn, and they flew toward the city.