I was the one to break eye contact first, molten heat flooding out reason, my head dropping back to the rug even as I arched upward. His tongue talked softly to me, some unknown language of the body. But it seemed that part of me understood, part of me was pretty close to fluent, because ripple after ripple of pleasure spilled through me. He teased me by flicking his tongue just a little too slowly until I whimpered helplessly.
The darkened windows reflected the impossible sight of that proud head bowed over me, that clever tongue pleasuring me. I closed my eyes and breathed through it, desperately; almost too much sensation. He had begun with a gentle touch, but it quickly grew more assured, more demanding, until his hands tightened on my hips, jerking me nearer in an almost greedy way. And I guess my body must have been talking to him, too, because somehow he knew the pace I wanted, knew exactly the touch I craved. Pleasure slid up and down my spine like hot wax until it gave up and melted entirely.
Without being asked, I shifted my legs farther apart for his touch. And the geis instantly rewarded me: the feeling I had whenever I resisted, like my chest had been caught in a vise, suddenly eased. I took what felt like my first full breath in days.
And it terrified me.
I'd been a fool to think I could control this, crazy to let it go this far. If I became Mircea's servant things would be bad, but if he became mine, they might be even worse. I didn't think the Consul would be too pleased about having one of her senators under anyone's control, especially mine. I didn't even have to guess what her response would be: if I didn't stop this, I was either a slave or dead.
My body was no longer taking orders from my brain—I literally wasn't in control anymore—but I could still talk. "Mircea, listen to me. We have to—" I stopped suddenly, unable to finish; I was too busy swallowing the groan that wanted to slip free of my throat.
He heard the small noise I couldn't quite suppress, and it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I was beginning to worry," he said lightly. "Most women are not still coherent at this point."
I kissed him to wipe the smirk off his face, jerking him up to me by the two halves of his shirt. He drove the kiss deep as I shoved the silk off his shoulders and worked it down his arms. A toggle went skittering across the floor, but the heavy material wouldn't rip—it caught on his wrists. I pulled back, glaring at it, and tugged harder, until it finally came off. Mircea let me, his eyes glinting, a smile playing over his lips. I ignored it this time.
"I'm glad you're braver than your counterpart," I said, as he laid me back on the rug. I still had one stocking on, I noticed. It looked a little strange, as it was all I was wearing.
"What counterpart?" Mircea murmured, kissing his way downward again.
"The one from my time."
"And why is that?" he asked, his breath ghosting over me.
I tilted my head back, already so close—“He was afraid to touch me."
Mircea rested his chin on my stomach and looked at me with hot, golden eyes. One hand curved around my hip possessively. "I doubt that. As a famous Frenchman once said, the best way of enlarging and multiplying one's desires is to try to limit them."
"Even if they make me your master?" I gasped.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Mircea abruptly moved over me, his arms braced on either side of my body, his face staring directly into mine. His pupils were still dilated, and his skin was flushed. But unlike me, he was in command of himself. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"The geis responds to power." His hair whispered across my breasts, a petal-soft sensation that was suddenly almost unbearable. I whimpered, and had to struggle not to reach for him. "And now that I'm Pythia…"
His eyes widened. Pain and surprise clashed on his face with something darker, more basic. "There is a chance that your power is the greater."
I just nodded, barely able to manage that. My skin felt like it was on fire, my pulse was pounding and my willpower was gone. I slid my thigh between his legs and put my arm around his back and just held on. I bit my lip to stifle the sounds that wanted to come up my throat, the demands I wanted to make.
I shuddered and made a helpless noise as his arms went around me, cradling me against him. He kissed me, murmuring, "It's all right, it will be all right," against my hair, and I sobbed wordlessly back, struggling weakly, trying to tell him that it wasn't, it wasn't all right.
Mircea started stroking in long, soothing paths from the base of my skull to the small of my back, over and over, murmuring soft nonsense things. Suddenly all the fight went out of me and every muscle went liquid, a low roaring in my ears. He'd hit me with a suggestion, I realized. Normally, it would have infuriated me to not even be asked, but at the moment I was absurdly grateful for it. The warmth and certainty of safety lulled me, pulling me under so gradually, I didn't even realize when I relaxed into sleep.
I awoke when the door slammed open and Horatiu tottered in. It wasn't much later, judging by the lack of light outside. I was sweating, and the blanket someone had placed over me had tangled around my body, plastering itself to my limbs. The fire was going strong and the room was too hot.
"Where is the master?" Horatiu asked, his voice quavering.
I sat up, holding my head. It hurt, and I felt dry-mouthed and groggy. The usual telltale signs of a powerful suggestion having worn off. Mircea must have had to use the big guns to overcome the geis, and the result was worse than a hangover. I got up and staggered to the window, throwing it open and gulping in a few lungfuls of cold, crisp air.
"The master?" Horatiu repeated.
I blinked at him over my shoulder. He had a bottle of wine perched precariously on a tarnished silver platter and his hands were shaking, making it tremble badly enough that I was afraid it would fall. "I don't know," I said, moving to help, and a second later he had me around my already abused throat.
I didn't need to watch the age spots fading, the shape of the hands gripping me reforming, to know who had me. "How did you find us?" I demanded, not bothering to struggle.
"You were kind enough to mention the vampire's name in my hearing," Pritkin sneered. "And it seems he is well known in Paris. Discovering where ‘Lord Mircea' has his residence wasn't difficult!"
"Tell me you didn't hurt the old man," I said, wondering what he'd done with the real Horatiu. Hoping a slip of my tongue hadn't just ended a centuries-old life.
Pritkin's bark of a laugh echoed harshly in my ears. "I found him asleep, with the tray beside him. I left him so. My quarrel is not with him."
"No. Your quarrel is with me, and my patience is not endless," Mircea hissed. He'd appeared in the doorway, a tray similar to Horatiu's in his hands. It was loaded with food—a round loaf of bread, butter, jam—that he'd somehow rounded up.
"Then let me try it no further!" Pritkin said, pulling a dark sphere out from under his cloak. "Give me my property or we all die. Right here. Right now."
"The map will do you no good dead!"
"Nor will it you!" Pritkin snapped.
"I said we were reasonable men. It appears I overrated one of us," Mircea replied. His hands flexed slightly and his lips drew back from his teeth. I swear I could almost see his fangs lengthening. I felt like screaming at both of them that we couldn't afford a fight when it could end with one or all of us dead. But it wouldn't have done any good. So I went with something that would.
While Pritkin stood glaring at Mircea, I shifted behind him and grabbed the small sphere from his hand. I threw it out the window even as he turned, shock on his face, and Mircea grabbed us both and jerked us out of the room. The door shut just as an explosion rocked the front of the house. The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds.