Shattered Circle

call each other and discuss this in more detail. He wondered who they had sent to this place; he had not recognized the woman’s voice by her single word: “Hello.”

•  •  •

Following the method Menessos had used in binding the sisters, Mero decided he must empower a choker with which to bind Liyliy. As he prepared, he’d demanded that a guard contact any woman in the haven who owned a choker and have her bring the jewelry to him for inspection.

Only one woman had come: Risque.

She dropped a leather bondage-style choker on the altar before him. There was a small lock on the front closure of it, which was presently open. “Don’t ask.” She put the key into his hand, turned on her heel, and left.

He grinned. It was perfect.

But.

This would be a feat similar to a mouse belling a cat.

He didn’t actually want to get close to Liyliy. If she touched him, she could invoke a reading of him. Not only could she immobilize him—or worse, slay him—by such means, but she might learn that his connection to the Excelsior ran deeper than their formal titles. He had many secrets he wished to keep from her, but that one was the most dangerous for Deric.

•  •  •

Liyliy left her sisters in the room and entered the hall, faking the limp she’d had before. There were two guards outside the door and, as she walked away from them, one called, “Allow us to escort you.”

She turned and waited for them to join her. When they neared, she grabbed each man’s arm and, pulling recent memories from their minds, had them on their knees. The memories were of generic haven-living experiences, but in reading the two of them at once the thoughts and images had melded together. They slammed painfully into her mind as a strange mix of deja vu and double vision. She jerked her hands free and stepped back even as she gripped them by the hair and knocked their skulls together.

Confident they would not be following, she hurried from the hall—remembering to limp at the last. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she awkwardly climbed up the staircase. Moving was much easier with her sisters’ healing, but letting those here think her handicapped gave her the option of surprising them with quick action. Being underestimated might be her only means to rescue.

The hallway on the ground level was empty. She hesitated, holding the banister. In case anyone was watching, she panted as if out of breath.

It’s too easy.

With extreme control, she progressed toward the main entry with a shambling gait. When she rounded the old ticket booth and had a clear view ahead, she detected a man’s outline against the boards that covered the doors.

“Where is the necklace?”

It was Mero’s voice.

She laughed but limped onward, keeping the wariness she felt from showing.

“Liyliy.”

“You will never find it,” she hissed. Ten feet from him she stopped and put her hands on her hips. “What have you come to try to replace it with?”

“Stay here, Liyliy. Let us work together to heal those scars.”

Through gritted teeth she said, “They suit me.”

“No, Liyliy. Your beauty suited you. It can be regained.” He extended his hand toward her.

Tempted for an instant, she searched his eyes. Not counting all the centuries she had been encased in stone, she had never been able to trust what she saw in anyone’s expression. She never trusted their words, only what she saw when she read someone was real, because she knew only that was true.

Even her sisters, who had always been honest with her, she could not believe unless she confirmed it with a reading touch.

But there was pity in Mero’s eyes and she knew it was not fraudulent. He eased a step toward her.

Fool! That is what you want to see!

He was your downfall. You wanted to see him, to feel his arms around your body . . . you snuck away, certain that your beauty would win him over.

But your sisters followed you. All three of you were lured to your doom because you wanted him.

And all he felt for you was fear—fear so deep he let his Maker bind you into stone. Your sisters warned you. Everyone saw that truth but you. You hadn’t touched him.

You’d forgotten how to read people with your own eyes.

Your sisters hadn’t; they knew what was happening. They knew your heart was warming for someone . . . someone oblivious to your fixation on him. They knew it would break your trio apart.

Menessos had mastered the art of reading people. He knew what you were feeling for Mero. He used it against you.

“Did you send your messenger boy to fetch me?”

Mero’s hand dropped down. Confusion, distraction marred his features. “What?”

“The night my sisters and I were bound in stone. Your messenger came to me.”

He shook his head. “Liyliy. I never had a messenger boy.”

With a shout of rage that was steeped in the pain of time, she used her aura as a guide and swung her fist at him. Anger and anguish filled her as she struck him. He backpedaled. Her arms lengthened, sprouted feathers, and she kept delivering blow after blow.

He blocked her. He slammed energy bolts into her.

Feathers flew into the air. She screamed at his resistance, but she felt no injury through the agony of her betrayal.

When the leather collar appeared in his hand, she grabbed his wrist.

She took him back centuries upon centuries.

She put him on his knees, searching for the truth.

On her knees with him, tears pouring from one eye, she learned he was honest. She learned he had been with Menessos that evening; Menessos, who was gathering the last of the supplies for the spell, rehearsing the lines. He had no messenger. He sent no one. He was unaware of her desire for him.

Liyliy released Mero and remained before him, weeping.

Only when the collar was shoved toward her neck did she realize minutes had passed and he had recovered.

She forced a full transformation. The collar would never fit her owlish neck. She snapped at him with her beak and menaced him with her talons, but she did not draw blood. As an owl, her aura was altered, affecting her aim. It took a few swings to master it, then she swatted him hard, knocking him backward into the air. She pulled the transformation back into her human form, and she pushed through the doors with tatters of gray silk trying to cover her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Simply because she has fey blood doesn’t mean you have to gift her.”

Though Beverley remained unconscious, the memory of her scream was still echoing in my mind and my tone was clipped as I scolded Menessos.

Several paces away from me, the vampire spread his arms, palms out, assuming the typical innocence- pleading pose. “Being in the line supercharged her,” he argued. “I couldn’t bring her out with that power uncontrolled and leaking everywhere. I had to funnel it onto one focus . . . for her sake and for ours. We can’t put her or others in danger, Persephone. What if she were to have a paroxysmal episode?”