“Hmm,” I said, searching for another conversational outlet.
“I take it you and Black have yet to discuss his history here?” Alaire continued. Even though he carefully guarded his manner, feigning only slight interest, I knew better. Inside, he was clinging to the question he’d just asked, waiting with bated breath for my answer.
“Like I said, Tallis isn’t much of a talker,” I repeated, intending to keep Tallis’s business just that, his own. I had a feeling that any information in Alaire’s hands was a dangerous place for it to be.
“I am not one to offer advice, my dear,” Alaire started as I immediately doubted the sincerity in his statement. “But Tallis Black’s time spent here in the Underground City is a topic you might very well benefit from discussing with him. Perhaps your mountain man is not the saint you believe him to be.”
“I never believed Tallis was a saint,” I responded snidely, my heart suddenly feeling heavy as soon as I thought of the hulking Scot. Pushing thoughts of him out of my head, I faced Alaire again. “I know what sort of man Tallis is.”
“Very well,” Alaire said, nodding in a way that conveyed that he definitely didn’t agree with my statement. But, apparently, he intended to leave it alone, all the same.
“So what sort of job credentials do you need in order to obtain the position of Keeper of the Underground?” I continued. I wanted to steer him away from the subject of Tallis in order to learn more about his role in the Underground City. I figured this information was probably good to know. “I imagine your warrior background must’ve helped you immensely?”
“Of course,” Alaire said as he nodded. “But a violent background is merely the tip of the iceberg.”
“What else did the job description demand?”
“The most important role for the Keeper of the Underground City is maintaining order in what would otherwise be total chaos.”
“And how does one accomplish that?”
“Through fear, Ms. Harper,” Alaire replied immediately. His eyes were as cold as stone when they settled on mine. I swallowed hard as any former confidence I possessed suddenly dwindled away to nothing.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice hesitant.
“Fear is the highest form of power. Do not let anyone ever convince you otherwise.” He continued to stare at me as if he could see right through me. “A leader who inspires fear is a respected leader.” He was quiet for a few seconds before he smiled. “Do I frighten you, Ms. Harper?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer the question, but I dared not feign my bravado, as he would see right through it. “I don’t know what to make of you, Alaire,” I replied truthfully.
He chuckled softly. “You remain guarded with me,” he said after a silence, which lasted the count of four heartbeats.
“Do you blame me?”
“Of course not. You are a smart woman and you trust your instincts,” he answered. His eyes perused my face before falling down to my neck, then to my breasts, and ultimately, to my stomach. “Your instincts will never lead you astray.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“My apologies,” he responded with a charming smile as his eyes found mine again. “As I imagine you can guess, my instincts demand that I take what is mine.”
“I’m not yours,” I announced, in a flat tone of voice. An undeniable sense of intimidation began washing over me in icy waves.
“No, not yet.”
“Not ever.”
“Never say never, my dear,” he replied, his tone sounding more playful than it had only moments earlier. “Now, where were we with regard to Royo’s paintings?” he said, suddenly changing the subject, and clapping his hands together excitedly. “Ah, yes, two down and two to go.”
I swallowed, taking a deep breath before adjusting my mind to the change of topic. Truthfully, it relieved me when Alaire switched the course of our conversation. I’d been on edge at the mention of him feeling entitled to “take what was his.” His comment hovered over me like a looming threat, the dread of it difficult to shake.
“The, uh,” I started, steering my attention back to the subject of Royo’s paintings and Alaire’s assumption that they all had something to do with him. “The only painting which doesn’t seem to fit the mold of the others is the one of the woman who slayed the demon,” I announced. “I think you said she was called ‘Immaculate’?” He merely nodded, so I continued. “I’m not really sure how you relate to it, but I must admit, I like it the best.”
“Do you?” he asked with a smirk, some of his former candor evident again. “I am not surprised that you like it the best, Ms. Harper. It is the only example of the four that depicts a woman overpowering a man.”
I nodded. “But it’s really so much more than that. The woman slayed the demon, which, no doubt, symbolizes evil, so I think of it as good triumphing over bad.”
“I am not certain Royo sees the world quite as black and white as you may believe.”
I shrugged. “Well, regardless, the only good demon is a dead demon, as far as I’m concerned.”
Alaire chuckled heartily before allowing the laugh to die when his eyes found mine again. “Perhaps you are Immaculate, herself, my dear?” he asked. “And I am the unfortunate demon whom you intend to slay with your sword?”
“I could only be so lucky,” I grumbled but offered him a smile.
“Speaking of swords,” Alaire started as he eyed me narrowly, his eyes piercing mine. “May I venture to assume you have misplaced yours?”
I swallowed so hard, I half wondered if I’d swallowed my tongue. I didn’t respond at first, but cleared my throat while mentally grasping for the best reply.
“Do not fret, Ms. Harper,” Alaire continued in an offhand manner. “I do not plan to extend our little dalliance any longer than was mutually agreed upon.”
Relief washed over me before I remembered that I this was Alaire I was dealing with, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to trust him. “And we agreed to have dinner,” I said, making damn sure we were on the same page.
“Yes, just dinner,” Alaire concurred with a nod. “But I do hope you will delight me again sometime soon, as I have enjoyed your company immensely.”
“We’ll see,” I answered, desperately hoping I’d never have to see him again, let alone have dinner with him.
Alaire was about to comment further, but the words were snatched right out of his mouth when it sounded like a hurricane suddenly formed right outside the dining room. I heard a roar, which I wasn’t even certain was human, and moments later, saw the blade of an axe coming right through the wall beside the sliding door in the room. I heard myself scream as the axe crashed through the wall two more times.
Alaire threw his chair back and immediately stood up, alarm clearly etched on his face. I turned toward the room’s entrance and observed the blade of the axe slicing through the wall again before leaving a hole the size of a small child. I heard the axe fall to the floor as, seconds later, two large hands appeared through the hole and ripped the rest of the drywall apart.
“Well, well,” Alaire announced in a friendly tone, although his eyes appeared murderous. “It appears we have another dinner guest, my dear.” He glanced at me briefly before returning his gaze to the unexpected guest, who was just pushing his way through the large hole in the wall. “What a shame I forgot to set a place for you.”
If Alaire’s gaze was murderous, Tallis’s was even more so.
“A marsh it makes, which has the name of Styx”
– Dante’s Inferno
TEN
“Ah am nae interested in conversation, Alaire,” Tallis ground out, while standing a few feet from us and shaking with obvious rage. He appeared to be using every ounce of willpower to refrain from launching himself at Alaire. He turned the intensity of his gaze on me and his face turned a few brighter shades of red once he perused my outfit. “Lily, coome haire,” he managed between gritted teeth.
I stood up, bu
t Alaire immediately barricaded me with his arm to keep me from walking away. He cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Tallis. “I, too, am not interested in idle conversation with you, Black.” When he took a few steps toward the outraged Scotsman, I couldn’t help noticing how polar opposite they were—Alaire, dressed in a crisp business suit with coiffed hair and a clean-shaven face, and Tallis, clad in a kilt, exposing his massive chest, with our swords strapped to it, and a large animal pelt draped across his shoulders. His hair was an inch or so longer than I remembered, and his cheeks and jawline showed week-old stubble.
“And as you are clearly crashing an event to which you were not invited,” Alaire continued, “I would kindly appreciate it if you would turn right around and crawl back through that fairly large hole you’ve just put into my wall.” Shaking his head, Alaire muttered something about “employing bodyguards” in the future.
“Lily!” Tallis yelled at me, letting it be known that he wanted me by his side immediately. His eyes looked like they might bulge right out of his head. I took a tentative step toward him, but this time Alaire reached out and grabbed hold of my upper arm in an obvious attempt to keep me right where I was.
“We have not finished our discussion yet, my dear,” he said to me before facing Tallis again. “And, therefore, this Neanderthal was just on his way out.” Alaire’s lips were so tight, they nearly vanished into his face.
Tallis’s eyes were glued to my arm, where Alaire held me immobile. “Release ’er,” he demanded, the midnight blue in his eyes quickly becoming absorbed by inky blackness.
“Alaire,” I started in a trembling voice. I could see where this situation was headed and wanted no part of it. “Let’s call it a night.” I tried to pull my arm free, but Alaire’s grip felt as tight as a tourniquet.
“No, Ms. Harper,” Alaire replied in a louder tone, his gaze never leaving Tallis. “You and I will continue our evening as soon as this behemoth learns some manners and fully understands that breaking and entering will not be tolerated!”
I definitely couldn’t concur with that. As soon as Tallis bulldozed his way through the wall, I’d felt nothing but relief because I knew I was safe as long as Tallis was by my side. My former worries as to whether or not Alaire would release me after dinner, and how I could make it through the Dark Wood unarmed, were no longer a concern to me. Now, the only unpredictable factor went by the name of Alaire …
“Fur the lest time,” Tallis said in a frosty voice, enough of a warning all on its own. “Oonhand ’er.”
“Perhaps I should remind you, heathen, that you cannot and will not talk to me in such a manner,” Alaire seethed, his chest rising and falling noticeably. “There may have been a time when you could and did speak to me in such a way but that time is long past.”
I was surprised and found myself wondering what the nature of their relationship was in the past, that Tallis had apparently ranked more highly than Alaire when it came to Underground City politics.
“Ah will speak tae ye however it pleases meh,” Tallis spat out, his eyes glued to Alaire’s hand where he held my arm.
“Does it bother you when I touch her, Black?” Alaire asked. He laughed, and his tone of voice suddenly sounded playful. But beneath his apparent levity was something not quite so humorous. Rather, it was more along the lines of acidic. He continued to grasp my arm as if it were his last lifeline. He walked toward me, but stopped when he stood directly behind me. I felt his other hand wrapping around my other arm.
“Let go of me, Alaire,” I whispered. A rash of goose bumps broke out along my skin and I felt a shiver racing up my spine, but neither for good reasons. I didn’t like being touched by Alaire. Every hair on my body was standing at attention and my heart felt like it was slamming against my ribs. I started to feel nauseous. Turning my head so I could see Alaire out of my peripheral vision, I attempted to defuse the situation. “You said you would let me go after our dinner was over,” I managed before glancing at the table, and spotting the remainder of his uneaten cake. “And since we’ve finished dessert, clearly, our evening is at its end.”
Alaire didn’t respond so I tried to shake his hands free, but he clung to my arms like his hands were manacles. Making no motion to release me, he instead started to rub my arms up and down. “I thought you were a man of your word?” I whispered to him, my voice soft but angry.
“Did it ever occur to you, Black,” Alaire suddenly piped up, obviously ignoring my comment, “that she enjoys my caresses?” I felt my mouth drop open in abhorrent shock because I’d never so much as even suggested such lies to him. Then he chuckled. “Her entire body is shivering, perhaps … with anticipation? Excitement? What would you call it, Ms. Harper?” He eyed me momentarily, but probably realizing what my response would be, didn’t allow me to answer the question. “Exhilaration over the thrill of a real man’s touch?”
“Enuff!” Tallis roared, pulling his sword from its sheath, and wielding it high above his head in a manner that indicated he was finished playing games.
“Please, Alaire, don’t blow this out of proportion,” I said in a forgiving tone of voice, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Just let me go and we’ll discuss all of this later. I’m sure we can reach a compromise that doesn’t have to end in violence.”
But Alaire didn’t spare me a glance. I could see from the corners of my eyes that his attention was riveted on Tallis. “I can feel her innocence flowing through her body, humming in her blood,” he teased, making it more than obvious that he was deliberately seeking a reaction from Tallis. Moving one of his hands over my stomach, Alaire fanned his fingers across it. I felt myself instinctively shrinking away from him. Moments later, I was reminded of the Royo painting, the one with the naked, blond woman and the hideous, winged creature behind her with its hand covering her thigh possessively.
“If you’re trying to impress me, Alaire, it isn’t working,” I said, changing tactics because he clearly couldn’t have cared less about trying to keep the peace with Tallis. If anything, he was trying to goad Tallis, provoking the larger man to lose his cool. “Alaire,” I repeated his name when he didn’t answer me. He exhaled a breath onto my neck and leaned down until our heads were parallel, making a big motion of inhaling deeply. “The smell of naiveté and virtue is unparalleled, is it not, Black?” he asked Tallis before standing up again. “Heady and intoxicating. Finer than the most expensive perfume.”
“Git yer filthy hands off ’er,” Tallis growled, taking a step toward us. It was obvious, though, that he didn’t intend to use his sword. He couldn’t—not when Alaire was standing behind me, and, basically, making me serve as his shield.
“My filthy hands?” Alaire repeated with an acerbic laugh as he glanced down at his pristine hands, flexing his fingers, the nails of which appeared to be manicured. The laugh died and when he spoke again, his voice sounded almost surly. “What of your filthy hands?”
“Alaire, stop,” I said in a loud voice as I tried to free myself again. Still gripping my waist, and none too gently, Alaire pulled me against him, pinning me in place.
“Tell me, Black, what part of her uncorrupted body have your filthy hands touched?” Alaire fumed. “And I don’t, for one second, believe that you don’t feel exactly the same unrelenting attraction to her as I do.” Then he laughed again as he shrugged. “After all, you and I are cut from the same cloth, are we not, Tallis Black?”
“Ah am naethin’ like ye,” Tallis replied, his eyes smoldering. He continued to remain rooted in place though, as if unable to make a move.
“Nothing like me?” Alaire responded with a mirthless chuckle, his eyebrows lifting as if to parody his words. “Am I to understand that you believe we have nothing in common?”
“Naethin’,” Tallis responded more fervently, his eyes begging Alaire to argue with him.
“Then you don’t smell the purity on her skin whenever she happens to stand too close to you?” Alaire inquired, the former flippancy now absent in hi
s tone of voice. “Nor the scent of her youthful loveliness that makes you want to bury yourself as deeply as possible inside her?”
I could see sweat beading along Tallis’s hairline, and I watched him swallowing hard for the third or fourth time as he fastened his gaze on Alaire. His shoulders became rigid and his hand was clenched around the handle of his blade so tightly, his knuckles turned white. His jaw clamped down and it looked as if his cheeks might cave in. Judging by Tallis’s body language, it was suddenly apparent to me that whatever Alaire was saying must’ve been closer to the truth than Tallis preferred.
“You don’t have to answer, bladesmith,” Alaire continued as he buffed his nails against the collar of his shirt. He feigned interest in his fingernails for another few seconds before abandoning his artful show and returning his gaze to Tallis. “I already know the truth,” he ground out. “I know there are times when you have to forcibly resist the urge to ravish her, to starve the whims of the demon that lives inside you. And I know there are times when you wish that demon could overwhelm you, and do the things that you, in good conscience, cannot do.”
“Nae,” Tallis replied, shaking his head. But the way in which he denied Alaire’s words only pointed to the fact that he was having difficulty.
“Deep down, you often wonder if the desires of the creature are not the same as your own,” Alaire continued, his tone condemning, accusing. “Unlike you, however, I already know the answer to that question.” Alaire paused to take a breath and it suddenly dawned on me why he was so inexplicably drawn to the Royo paintings. Alaire was comprised of nothing but demonic ugliness. It cohabited inside a beautiful, yet very deceiving, shell. “Perhaps the only difference between the two of us is that I have accepted the truth,” Alaire persisted. “I understand that the demon and the man are one and the same, and neither can ever be divorced from the other.”