Sebastian

  Koltak closed his eyes. There was no eagerness left, no anger left. All he wanted right now was to find Sebastian, to talk to Sebastian.

  Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian.

  Prodding the horse, he crossed the bridge…and into a countryside unmarred by any road.

  Relief shuddered through him. He had crossed over into this dark landscape from Wizard City. He was sure of it. But did it connect to the Den? Only one way to find out.

  Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian.

  With no reason to choose one direction over another, Koltak turned the horse and rode south.

  Sebastian began another circuit around the Den’s main street. He’d been on the move since dropping Lynnea off at Philo’s, and the trolling without pleasure, combined with an unsatisfying night and fitful sleep, had left him on edge, itchy. On top of that was the sense that he was a jagged puzzle, just like the landscapes, except there wasn’t the equivalent of a Landscaper to shift the pieces until they resonated in harmony with one another.

  Seeing the undiluted power of the incubus had sickened him. Realizing that the wizard power that had lain dormant in him was now trying to find some way to fit—or dominate—the rest of him made him feel vulnerable.

  Who was he when he talked to Philo, gave orders to Teaser, craved the feel of Lynnea’s body brushing against his? Was he a human making plans with other humans to defend the Den, a wizard giving orders because no one would dare disobey him, or an incubus who craved whatever warmth he could get from a woman who had been an innocent before she’d stumbled into the Den?

  Who was Sebastian? Why didn’t he know anymore? Wasn’t he a little old for this kind of soul-searching?

  He did know one thing with absolute certainty: If the other newcomers who had come to the Den were pureblood incubi and succubi like the one he’d killed, he would die before he let any of them near Lynnea.

  He would kill before he let any of them near Lynnea.

  Which was why he’d spent the past few hours on the street, hunting. He’d recognize the feel of them. He was sure of that. But if they kept that power contained, they could hide behind any face, maybe even cross over to a daylight landscape where no one would recognize the danger until it was much, much too late.

  As he passed Mr. Finch’s shop, which was locked tight, Mr. Finch and Wayne, the boy he’d taken in as an apprentice, paused in their reorganization of the shop to wave at him—just as they’d done each time he’d passed by. He wasn’t sure if they were doing that to assure him they were who he thought they were or if they were paying attention to how long it took him to make a full circuit so they could raise an alarm if he didn’t appear within a reasonable time.

  Daylight! Was he going to spend the rest of his life walking the streets, watching for trouble, protecting the people and making sure the Den remained as it should be?

  And what did it say about him that he found the prospect of such a life appealing?

  At the end of the street, where the cobblestones changed abruptly to the dirt lane that led to his cottage, he paused for a moment, then started back down the street. He’d take a break when he reached Philo’s, have a cup of koffee and a plate of whatever was being served, talk to Teaser, flirt with Lynnea. Especially flirt with Lynnea.

  And do what? he thought unhappily. Stir up the juices, the wants and needs, and then pretend to be asleep again tonight so he didn’t have to wonder if he was taking more from her than he should?

  But he wanted to flirt with her, make love to her, hold her. Just hold her. Was it the incubus or the man who wanted those things? Did knowing what was inside him really make him any different from the person he’d been a few weeks ago?

  He lengthened his stride, moving down the street with no other thought than to spend a few minutes with Lynnea. She was safe there. Teaser had volunteered to keep an eye on her—and all of them knew the offer had been made, in part, because Teaser was still shaken up over seeing a pureblood incubus wearing his face. So Teaser was watching over Lynnea—and Philo was watching Teaser.

  As he approached, he saw Teaser step up to the edge of the courtyard. The incubus raised a hand in greeting and almost had his usual cocky smile.

  “Was told to keep watch for you,” Teaser said, his blue eyes twinkling. “There’s a lady here who thinks you should rest your feet and have a bite to eat.”

  “The lady is right,” Sebastian replied, looking past Teaser to watch Lynnea come into the courtyard to serve a table of four bull demons.

  Teaser looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Guess she didn’t have a chance to tell you about that. The Sebastian Special is a treat, as far as the bull demons are concerned. And since they paid for the meal with a jar of ripe olives swimming in oil, I thought Philo was going to weep with gratitude.”

  Olives? You couldn’t even buy them on the black market most of the time. And how many times had he heard Philo grumble that a particular dish just didn’t have quite the right flavor because he couldn’t get his hands on any olive oil? What had the man concocted that the bull demons liked so much?

  “Sebastian Special?” That part finally sank in.

  Teaser grinned. “Vegetable omelet. Apparently Lynnea told the first bull demon who got one that it was a special dish she made only for you. Therefore, the Sebastian Special. But the bull demon liked it, and now he’s gone and told all his friends, so—”

  “We’re never going to get another omelet, are we?” Sebastian said, suddenly feeling wistful about eggs he’d never know. “If the bull demons are willing to pay for them with olives, Philo won’t give up a single egg to the rest of us.”

  “Well, you might still get some, since Lynnea’s the one who makes the omelets. As for the rest of us, I’m hoping your farmer friend can add eggs to the supplies he’s already promised to bring to the Den.”

  Sebastian grinned. “I wonder if William Farmer has ever tasted olives. This might end up as a very good deal for us.”

  That was the moment when Lynnea, having delivered her tray of omelets and toast, turned and saw him—and everything about her lit up with pleasure.

  The warmth of her feelings flowed through him, and he dropped his guard, just a little, to fully embrace those feelings.

  That was when a different kind of feeling flooded through him. This had claws that tried to pull him under, drown him in sensation. He felt the power of the incubus unfurl inside him, but it was primitive, furious, viciously hungry.

  Lynnea froze and stared at him. Teaser made some inarticulate sound and took a step back.

  “Protect Lynnea,” he whispered to Teaser. Then he turned to face the street.

  All four of them were moving toward him. All of them hammered at his emotions, at his wants and needs, trying to find a way in that would leave him seduced by their power, vulnerable to whatever they intended to do to him.

  “Sebastian,” one of the succubi purred. “Join us. Rule the Den with us. This is your only chance.”

  Sweat beaded his forehead. They moved toward him, shoulder-to-shoulder, their matched steps a sinuous dance humans could never imitate. And behind them a crowd was growing, their faces dark with ugly emotions.

  “I already rule the Den,” Sebastian said, each word an effort of will. How long could he hold out against them? How long before the lure of being glutted by emotions became impossible to resist?

  “He rules the Den,” an incubus said, mocking. Its eyes glittered with malice as it turned its head slightly to address the crowd. “He’s the one standing in the way of your pleasure. He’s the one preventing you from getting what you deserve.” The incubus looked at Sebastian. “He’s the one who needs to be eliminated.”

  Mutters from the crowd as the men moved closer, spreading out to surround him. “Run him off!” “Show him who’s really in charge!” “Bastard thinks he can make the rules and tell me what to do? Bury him!”

  Sebastian stared at the four purebloods. During the hours he’d spent searching for them, they h
ad fed the dark emotions of the Den’s visitors. Now those men were convinced there was nothing wrong with killing him in return for all the pleasures that had been promised to them. Pleasures that would end up killing them.

  He felt the crowd stir, glanced around quickly. Some of the men were holding broken chair legs as clubs. Some held pocketknives. All it would take was one lunging at him to have them all trying to tear him apart. Even if the Den’s residents jumped into the fight to help him, people would get hurt. Some might even die.

  The purebloods knew he’d killed one of them. They wouldn’t risk themselves when the humans would do this ugly bit of work for them. But they were still trying to lure him in, make him vulnerable to every kind of attack.

  Sebastian.

  Why was he resisting? He couldn’t quite remember.

  He took a step toward the purebloods.

  Sebastian!

  Love turned fierce in its desperation to reach him blazed through him, freeing him from the purebloods’ thrall. He knew the feel of that love, the heat of it, the passion that came from that heart.

  Lynnea!

  The wizard’s power rose up in him, tingled in his fingertips—a cold fire that came from an icy clarity of mind rather than the heat of emotions.

  “I protect the Den,” he said, raising his voice to reach the crowd as he stared at the purebloods. “You are a threat to the people here, to all the people of Ephemera. You are killers and must be destroyed. Justice demands it.”

  The purebloods snarled. The crowd surged toward him.

  He raised his hand, pointed at the purebloods—and unleashed the lightning.

  Jagged streaks of power, blinding white, hit all four of them. Enveloped them. Blazed through them.

  Burned them.

  They screamed, unable to escape the power. The men who had been surging toward him suddenly fell over one another in their haste to get away from him.

  Even after the purebloods lay dead in the street, an echo of their screams seemed to linger.

  No one spoke; no one moved.

  He looked at the crowd. The thrall had died with the purebloods. Now the men’s faces held nothing but fear—of him.

  “Leave the Den,” he told them. “Don’t come back.”

  They scrambled to their feet, scurried in the direction of whatever bridge would take them back to their home landscapes. He watched them until the last man was out of sight. Then he turned to face the courtyard.

  Fear in Teaser’s eyes, in Philo’s. Even the bull demons looked at him in fear. But Lynnea…

  Maybe she didn’t understand what he was. Maybe she didn’t care. All he felt from her was relief…and love.

  “Daylight, Sebastian,” Teaser finally said, his voice rising to a pitch close to hysterical. “You’re a wizard!”

  He rubbed his right thumb over the tips of his fingers, feeling the slight tingle of that cold magic. And he remembered something Aunt Nadia had said once.

  There are two kinds of wizards. Many enjoy the fawning and attention that is given them out of fear. But there are others who use their power in the name of justice to protect people from the things that would truly do them harm.

  “No,” he said, looking at Philo, then at Teaser. “I’m not a wizard. I’m a Justice Maker.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dalton watched Henley and Addison set up the tents near the wagon that held their supplies. No point sleeping on the ground, exposed to the whims of weather, when they didn’t have to. And they were close enough to Wizard City that he could send a man back every other day for fresh food.

  Faran would live. The surgeon was hopeful that the man wouldn’t lose the leg and that the rest of the limbs, numbed by the venom, would fully recover. But the surgeon was less hopeful that the injured leg would ever be strong enough to support the demands of a guard’s duties. So Faran would be given a season’s pay as compensation and would be cast out to build a new life suitable for a partially crippled man.

  “Cap’n?” Addison said, approaching him. “Tents are up. We’re going to water the horses, then picket them to let them graze.”

  Dalton looked past Addison’s shoulder, unwilling to look the man in the eye. “That’s fine.”

  Addison sighed. “You did what you could, Cap’n. We all know you argued to keep Faran on the ledger, leastwise until he was healed up and could know for sure if he had to give up the guards. But maybe it’s for the best. Bad times are coming. We all know it. So maybe Faran will be better off going back to some country village and taking up a different line of work. He’s a good man with horses. Has a way with them. And he was never comfortable with the rough side of a guard’s life. Too much a gentleman.” He paused, then added, “Like you.”

  Flattered and embarrassed, Dalton looked at the other man. “Thank you.”

  Addison scuffed the ground with one foot. “I’d best go help Henley with the horses.”

  Dalton waited until the guard walked away before turning to study the planks of wood that crossed the little creek. Guy and Darby had the first watch. He’d keep the watches short in the daylight hours to relieve the fatigue of boredom. The night watch…He’d take the night watch. Not alone. He wasn’t a fool. But he could relieve his men of some of the tedium of waiting for Koltak’s return—and share their fear that something besides Koltak would cross over that bridge.

  Sebastian wrapped his arms around Lynnea, pulling her up against him.

  Laughing, she pushed at his chest in a halfhearted effort to get away. “Haven’t you had enough?”

  “I’ll never have enough of you.”

  When they’d gotten back to the bordello, they’d made love for hours. She hadn’t given him a chance to evade. And what choice did he have when she’d squirmed on top of him, wearing nothing but her skin and a smile—a combination of sultry and wholesome that sent his libido into a fever of lust? He took, he gave. She took, she gave.

  And somehow, in the hours when he’d slept after the loving, the jagged pieces of himself had shifted until they fit together instead of scraping against one another.

  “Well, you’ve had enough of me for the moment,” Lynnea said, giving him her best no-nonsense look. “I’ve got to get to work, and you’ve got to meet with Philo.”

  His contentment faded as he thought about the folded piece of paper that had been pushed under his door, requesting a meeting. He knew why Philo wanted to talk to him.

  “What’s the matter?” Lynnea asked. “What’s wrong with Philo wanting to talk to you?”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “Incubi are welcome in the Den of Iniquity. Wizards aren’t.”

  She stiffened. Did she finally realize why everyone had become so uneasy after he’d killed the purebloods?

  When she pushed at his chest, he let her go, let her step back from him.

  Then he looked at her face and took a step back himself. Outrage. Fury. His little rabbit was spitting mad and ready to take a swing at someone. Anyone.

  “Lynnea.” He tried for soothing, placating. If that didn’t work, he’d sink to pleading. Maybe.

  She bounced. Her hands curled into fists, and she…bounced.

  Oh, damn the daylight.

  “You’re the same person you were before. Now they want you to leave because you have a power that can defend them against bad things? What kind of idiots run the businesses in this place? What kind of morons live here?”

  She marched to the door and flung it open before he gathered his wits enough to try to stop her.

  Unfortunately, Teaser picked exactly the wrong moment to open his door and step into the corridor.

  “Are you an idiot?” Lynnea shouted, jabbing a finger into the incubus’s chest. “Are you a moron? Have you exchanged your brains for a bag of manure?”

  “What’d I do?” Teaser said, raising his hands in surrender. Since Lynnea was already marching for the stairs at a fast clip, he turned to Sebastian. “What’d I do?”

  “She’s on a
tear.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Nothing. Just…” He dug in his pocket and handed his key to Teaser. “Lock up the room for me, will you? I’ve got to stop her before she does something stupid.”

  “Like punch a bull demon in the nose?”

  He wasn’t going to consider the possibility.

  He raced down the stairs—and still wasn’t fast enough to stop her before she got out of the building.

  He caught up to her before she got to Philo’s but couldn’t think of any way to stop her without causing a scene that would be the talk of the Den for years to come.

  “Lynnea, wait.”

  She marched through the courtyard, flung open the door to the indoor dining room, and stopped so abruptly he rammed into her back and had to grab her shoulders to keep her from falling.

  At least, that was the excuse he was going to use for holding on to her.

  Philo wasn’t the only one waiting for him. Hastings and Mr. Finch also sat at a table. Wasn’t that wonderful? Exile by committee. Not that Philo or anyone else really had a choice about his staying. He anchored the Den. Didn’t matter if they considered him incubus, wizard, or human, he had to stay. And they had to accept it. The Den’s survival depended on it.

  “Lynnea,” Philo said, “maybe you’d like to go into the kitchen and—”

  She bounced.

  “You want her to go into the kitchen?” Sebastian said, unable to hide his disbelief. “Where there are sharp things?”

  Philo looked at Lynnea—and paled. “Ah. A chair, perhaps?” He pointed at the empty chair at the table.

  Sebastian shook his head—one sharp little movement. Until his rabbit calmed down, he wasn’t letting her near anything she could pick up and use as a weapon.

  “Well, then.” Philo pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead. He looked at Hastings and Mr. Finch, who both nodded. “Well. The thing is, Sebastian, after those…creatures…were disposed of, the merchants and business owners got together and talked things over. If you’re going to be protecting the Den from now on, you should be compensated. Like…wages.”