Incubus by Janet Elizabeth Jones Page B

grinned, caught the arm that held her and gave it a good shove—not that it made a difference—but it got her point across. “Look, Wonder Boy, let me make this clear without the flowery language you’re used to. I’m spoken for. If you don’t let me go in the next six seconds, Ellory’s going to do his best to rip your guts out. If he doesn’t manage it before you kill him, I will. Between the two of us, you’re not going to have a nice evening. So why don’t you stop wearing out your welcome and tell us what you know about Meical Grabian’s whereabouts?”
    She braced herself for the possible ramifications ofher bluff. Ellory seemed frozen. He gaped at her as though she’d just sealed their fate.
    The vampire behind her was silent. That could mean he was going to break her neck, or it could mean he was considering making a show of patronizing mercy by letting her go.
    What she wasn’t prepared for was his laughter. It echoed off the woods and the waves and cliffs. He was laughing at her. In spite of her relief that he was capable of genuine amusement, it made her want to pull his arm hair out.
    â€œIn all my three thousand years of night,” he said, “never have I been spoken to in this way. Certainly not by a revenant.”
    Three thousand years? Talisen felt the first bloom of panic in her chest. This Ancient was as powerful as the Alchemist.
    She caught another whiff of his signature scent, a dizzying mix of cool night breezes on thirsty desert sand, green rushes, musk, cypress, frankincense and…blood. He’d feasted very recently, but apparently, it hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy an appetite as old as his.
    She fidgeted again.
    Ellory edged closer. “Our revenants turn out a bit more modern than what you’re used to. She is, however, the sun in my sky. Let her go.”
    The vampire ran his hand through Talisen’s hair, and her fear turned dull and distant, like her thoughts. Dark velvet softness dragged her down to a place she didn’t belong.
    Talisen. Ellory’s voice jerked her back to the surface. She felt his love surround her, laden with a vampire’s stark possessiveness.
    The Ancient behind her laughed again, except this time he was inside her mind. Had she done that to herself by speaking to him? Ellory had warned her.
    He gives your leash a cosmic snap, he taunted, and you’re his again. I say again, he did very good work on you.
    Unexpectedly, Talisen was free. She swayed into Ellory’s arms. He caught her close, held her until she thought her ribs would mesh and then steadied her on her feet.
    Talisen turned to face the stranger. A world-weary soul returned her gaze, a soul as dark as the Alchemist’s and as dulcet as Freya’s, a soul steeped in the madness of hunger.
    He was an inch taller than she was, no more. Lithe and sinewy, with glossy, black curls that fell to his shoulder, he looked like a prince from another time and place. Just as his scent seemed familiar to her, so did his swarthy beauty and the intelligence in his gaze, the square jaw, the exotic mouth, the black-brown eyes that held an eternity of history, wisdom, life and death.
    â€œI am hunting the one you call the Alchemist,” he murmured.
    â€œWhatever business you have with Neshi is your own,” Ellory returned. “Do you or do you not have news of our friend?”
    â€œHe has been ill-used by Benemerut, but he’s alive.”
    Who dared to address the Alchemist by his first name? Not even Freya, the queen.
    The Ancient lifted his chin, his eyes full of the kind of rage that revenge makes friends with. “Benemerut has done our kind a disservice we will rue for ages. I am the only one who can stop him.”
    â€œGreat,” said Talisen. “We’ll help each other.”
    â€œI need no one’s help, sweetmeat. I am here because I wish to confirm what I have