the ghost bit, right? And all the ceremonies and such were created around that. The stuff with the vampires came later, much later, so it’s quite probable that the rules just got grandfathered in. I’m willing to bet you that if a group of Brotherhood guys got together and started that evil cleansing ceremony, so long as they had a Zorya present, she could smite the hell out of her victims. The Zenith thing is just a holdover from days long past. And before you say we have no proof of that, may I remind you of this?”
I summoned a tiny ball of light and let it dance in front of his feet.
He looked at it without moving.
“If I wanted to, I could probably pull down enough light to seriously harm you, Kristoff. It may take a ceremony with a couple of Brotherhood guys channeling their powers to finish you off, but I’m sure we wouldn’t need a Zenith to do so. Frederic must have found this out. Remember that Denise was a Zorya before she was the Zenith. I bet somehow they found it out, and that started his convoluted plan.”
“Convoluted, indeed,” Kristoff said, still watching the light bobbing at his toes. I waved a hand and dissipated it.
“I just bet you that Frederic is making sure another Zenith isn’t named. Which all points to one very clear conclusion.”
“Yes, it does. It says that you are more tired than either of us realizes.”
I made a face at him. “No, silly. It means we’re going to have to deal with Frederic.”
“I agree. We will kill the director.”
I gawked at him. “How on earth did you jump from ‘we need to give Frederic the third degree’ to killing him?”
His eyes lightened a few shades. “He is manipulating you, Beloved. Your theory is interesting, but unproven at this time. It is more likely that if the director is not working with Alec, he is probably holding him prisoner. And since he is fortifying his defenses, he must expect an attack by us. You are my Beloved, a fact he knows. Do you honestly believe he will not attempt to destroy us should he be given the opportunity?”
I was silent for a moment, remembering the pain of the knife Frederic had wielded as it sank deep into my flesh. “I don’t condone what Frederic has done in the past. And I don’t appreciate him manipulating me, and he’s definitely up to no good. God knows I certainly don’t support the war between the Brotherhood and you vampires, but someone somewhere has to draw the line and end the war. Someone has to stop the killing. And I choose to be that person.”
To my surprise, a faint smile was visible on Kristoff’s adorable lips. “My mother would have liked you. She was frequently in the stocks for what the local nobleman who ruled the town called gross impertinence to his position. She always championed the downtrodden, and more than once came close to the gallows for her attempts to right what she saw as wrongs.”
“She sounds like she was a marvelous woman,” I said, and, tempted as I was to continue that line of conversation, I set it aside for a bit. “You’re not going to distract me from the discussion, Boo. Especially since you know I’m against unnecessary violence.”
He sighed, a weary expression on his face. “What would you have me do? Promise that no harm will come to any reaper?”
“No. I would like you to think about ways to get what we want without anyone dying.”
Water lapping gently at the rocks was the only sound for a few moments.
“I will not risk your life,” he said finally.
“Nor would I expect you to. Just don’t go into this with a no-quarter stance, OK?”
His expression was sour, as if he’d tasted something bad. “I do this under protest.”
“So noted.” I swam backward a couple of feet, determined to enjoy the few hours of respite granted to us. I allowed myself a few smutty thoughts about what I’d like to do to him before continuing. “Back to my original question-why aren’t you soaking in here with me?”
“My friend is continuing to track Alec’s last-known movements.” He glanced at his watch. “I expect the answer to come in shortly. Much as I would like to make love to you, Beloved, I must attend to this first.”
“You know what I say to that?” I asked, reaching beneath me to scoop up another handful of the white silica mud.
“Something that’s intended to irritate me, I’m sure,” he said with a mock sigh.
“No. I say: incoming!” I hefted the handful of dripping wet, slippery mud and flung it at his head.
The mud hit him full in the face with a wet splatting noise. He stood stunned for a moment before turning a really top-quality glare on me. “That was uncalled for,” he snapped, reaching for a towel.
“Oh, come on, Kristoff! Just come have a little dip with me, and then you can do all the tracking down that you like. I’ll help.”
He just continued to wipe the mud off his face and upper part of his shirt.
I scooped up another handful, and thought about pelting him until he gave up and came after me. But I didn’t want to force him into having a little fun. That would defeat the purpose of him having a few hours of relaxation. No, he just needed a little persuasion, something that would convince him of the benefits of taking a little time away from the burdens we both bore.
I smiled to myself, swimming toward the stone steps that led out of our private lagoon to the lounge. When I was close enough that the water was about waist-deep, I stood up.
Kristoff, dabbing off the last smidgen of mud, froze. I arched my back a little, thrusting my bare breasts forward.
“It’s too bad you can’t find a little time to relax,” I said, caressing my breasts with the chalky white mud, allowing it to slide slowly down my chest, trailing my fingers down after it with long, sweeping strokes.
His eyes glittered with blue fire as he watched me.
“According to the spa brochure, this water is supposed to do all sorts of good things for you,” I cooed, scooping up two handfuls, pouring them over my now white breasts. “They have all sorts of treatment and massages available in the water, for a variety of ailments.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t otherwise move.
I bent and got another handful of mud, slowly walking forward toward the stairs until the water was at my pubic bone. I slathered my belly with the mud, making little swirls and circles in it as I spread it lower.
I thought Kristoff’s eyes were going to bug right out of his head.
I dipped my fingers even lower. “But if you don’t want to experience the benefits and pleasures it is sure to give you, I’ll just have to enjoy it all by myself.”
A splash momentarily blinded me, water flying everywhere. I laughed when Kristoff, still fully clothed, stood before me with two handfuls of white mud.
“It would be a shame to miss such a natural phenomenon,” he agreed, his voice husky as he spread the mud on my breasts.
“You still have your clothes on,” I pointed out, then gasped as his head dipped and he took the tip of one breast into his mouth. “Oh, dear God. Kristoff!”
The last was in response to his hands, which had gone beneath the water and were busy with hidden parts of me. My knees threatened to buckle as his fingers danced along sensitive flesh.
You taste salty, he said, his mouth moving along my breastbone. I could swear his tongue was made of fire as it swirled and lapped.
It’s the water. It’s two-thirds seawater and one-third fresh. I read that in the brochure. . . . Boo!
He smiled into my neck as two fingers suddenly dipped inside me. Hundreds of normally dormant nerve endings suddenly sat up and took notice of him, tingling with delight at his touch.
You have too many clothes on. I whimpered, trying to get my hands to strip the wet clothes off him, but my body was too involved in the sensations his mouth and hands were generating for me to do much but stand and quiver with rapture.
Yes. I have clothing on, and you do not. It’s very wicked, is it not?
Definitely, but it also is keeping me from touching you, I said, groaning as a third finger joined the other two, his thumb making little swirls that almost had me sobbing. My brain didn’t know whether it should focus on the wonderful feeling his fingers were generating, the sensation of my breasts rubbing against the slightly abrasive wet cloth of his shirt, or the fire that his mouth was trailing as he kissed a wet path along my shoulder.
Perhaps I do not wish to be touched, he answered, his teeth nipping the flesh of my upper arm.
