Gravely, she said, “Yes, child.”
Child. “You don’t think there’s a chance that he’s important enough to them to protect?”
“He’s lord of the northeastern quarter of the United States, he’s in their major hierarchy, but he’s still replaceable. However”—Xerxadrea cleared her throat—“if they owe him favors or he has some secret information he can use to blackmail someone who could make a difference, perhaps they might rally to his aid.”
She was giving me suggestions in code.
“But such unrealistic notions, if factual, would save him and cast you to your knees begging for mercy in an Elder’s Court, and it wouldn’t be mine.”
That sounded decidedly terrible. “You’re guaranteeing me that my compliance will earn me WEC’s favor?”
“It’s the best deal you’re going to get.”
I considered all this information, the options she was displaying for me. “Xerxadrea, do you honestly think the witches could take Menessos?”
“I doubt it would be easy, child, but I’m certain they can take him. They’re prepared to have you Bindspoken to do it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The protrepticus went to static, and when I checked the little screen, it was blank. The dread shading my view of the situation darkened even more. Fear tingled on my spine. I wondered how the Bindspoken ritual was performed, how many witches it took to achieve it. Does it hurt?
I returned to chopping up vegetables, and the weight of the knife in my grasp felt reassuring. Still, I jumped when the door flew open.
Johnny came in. He shut the door, scanned the room as if he hadn’t seen me, and called out, “Lucy, I’m home,” doing a surprisingly good impression of Desi Arnaz.
I really wanted to play along and not think about WEC’s threat but I hadn’t a clue what Lucy would reply to keep it going.
He came to the kitchen area. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Well, I’ve been told that the Erus Veneficus has a duty to be pampered and apparently being pampered does not include cooking, but you know me.”
“You’re a rule breaker?” He feigned shock. “What happened to ‘the right thing for the right reason’ bit?”
Making big, innocent eyes at him, I said, “Helping myself is the right thing when the reason is my own hunger and that of my hardworking man’s.”
“Ooooo.” He planted a kiss on my cheek, slipped behind me, and copied the gesture on the other side. Suddenly the knife was in his grip, not mine, and he was chopping the veggies more skillfully than I could. “Tuck your fingers just under like this,” he said, showing me his technique, “and keep the tip of the knife on the cutting board at all times. You have more control that way. You try.”
He set the knife down, and as I picked it up again, his hands went to my waist. I finished chopping the rest of the peppers while he kissed the unbandaged side of my neck and whispered, “Good. Now, isn’t that better?”
“Yeah.”
“So what are you making?”
“Pasta and veggies.”
“Meat?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Heh, heh, heh.” His warm touch rose up my sides, not tickling, but moving so his fingers could just stroke the underside of my bra. “How about breast? Chicken breast, that is.” And then he was gone, getting meat from the refrigerator. In minutes he had the pasta in the boiling water, and was preparing to stir-fry the meat and veggies in separate pans.
“One pan,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” A little chicken would be okay. He poured olive oil in the pan then added the sliced meat, stirring it around with a wooden spoon. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Yeah. I mean, we knew those Beholders work hard and fast, but damn.”
“Let me cook then. You supervise.”
“No, I got it.”
Since he was taking over, I went to sit at the bar side.
I considered telling him about my run-in and power struggle with Menessos, but that could lead to the threat Menessos made and I didn’t want to add to Johnny’s stress today. I’d gotten Menessos’s promise and that was good enough.
He put the wooden spoon down. “Is that another what’s-his-house painting?”
“Waterhouse. Yes.”
“Figures.”
“Don’t you like it?” I rotated my chair to examine it again. “The color works perfectly in here.”
Johnny checked it again. “Yeah. I guess it’s all right.”
I spun back. “It’s ‘all right’? Straightlaced and geeky little museum curators would get into fistfights over that painting.”
“Can we get that on pay-per-view?” Laughing, he added, “I remember a boxing match that Ig took me t—”
I waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. The pan on the stove was now receiving his complete attention.
“And?” My elbows rested on the counter.
“Guy got knocked out in the third round.” His tone was even.
The rest of the cooking was done in silence. When Johnny served up two scrumptious-smelling plates and set them on the counter, he said, “I’ve decided that”—he lifted a bottle of white wine—“Ig can’t help us and the pack is going to be reeling so it’s best to just leave them alone.” He dug around in the drawer and came up with the corkscrew. “We’ll find another way.” He opened the wine, poured two stemmed glasses, and put them on the counter for us. He came around to join me and took his own seat. “There’s always another way, right?”
I smiled. He smiled back, but his eyes were somber and sad. He wanted me to agree with him. His father figure was dying, and I definitely understood why he wouldn’t take action to become Domn Lup through ending that man’s life. I wasn’t close to Aquula, but I wasn’t willing to take her life—even to save Menessos’s.
Still, he couldn’t avoid his destiny forever.
On one hand, I wanted to push him toward it. I felt desperate for help to save Menessos. The pack would have to do as Johnny bid them if he claimed that leadership. On the other hand, this wasn’t my only option for aid. Xerxadrea had pointed out another avenue to pursue.
But between those hands was my heart, and it recognized that right now Johnny was clinging to the last bit of control over his life and his decisions. If I pushed him, in any direction, it would only make this moment ugly when it didn’t need to be. All I truly needed to do was support Johnny. “Right.”
We ate in silence, but with my last bite I couldn’t resist nonchalantly bumping his leg gently with my foot. He bumped back in kind, and soon we were having a contest under the bar countertop like two bratty siblings. When my next turn came, he twisted his rotating barstool quickly away and slid out of range.
“No fair!” I cried, but he wheeled on me, spinning my seat. “I just ate!” I protested. After he sent me around three full times, I was laughing and squealing objections. He stopped me abruptly and I nearly tumbled from the stool, a bit dizzy. He watched me laugh, nakedly admiring.
“What?”
Johnny didn’t answer; he leaned in. His mouth, those perfect, just-full-enough lips pressed to mine. That sweet tightening of low muscles gripped me deep inside, squeezing desire through me.
I buried my fingers in his dark curls and kissed him. His hand on the small of my back, he drew me to him. His heated touch started a chain reaction. In seconds, all my inhibitions had burned away.
He lifted my shirt up, breaking off the kiss long enough to yank it over my head. Inching my bottom to the front edge of my barstool, I wrapped my legs around him and leaned back, arching my spine. My head fell back as he unfastened the front-hook bra. A shrug and the bra dropped to the floor. I swiveled my hips, twisting the stool, to grind against him.
Johnny gave an appreciative growl and his hands stroked my thighs. When his fingers left the denim and touched my bare skin at my waist, sensations rocked through me. He traced my ribs, then lightly caressed the skin where my breasts rounded up. It tickled and teased. My nipples hardened, aching for his touch.