Regardless of what he meant, I struck back. It’s what I did. “I doubt you’ve ever loved anyone in your long, lonely, black pathetic life.”
Sawyer began to waver. So did everything else—the mountains and sky, the hogan, house, and ramada. They ran downward, like a watercolor left out in the rain. As they washed together into a swirling mass of stormy gray, Sawyer’s voice followed me into the void. “You’re right.”
What came next was a strange, confusing, untenable period in which I wasn’t certain what was real and what was not. Night blended into day. Jimmy was always there, an orgy of two.
He took me every way imaginable and some that weren’t. Pain and pleasure became intertwined. I was always on the edge of consciousness, the edge of orgasm. When I fell, I fell hard, drifting into the darkness, but I never found the light.
When I dreamed it was of snakes and coyotes, wolves and bears, cougars and cackling witches all overlaid with the sound a straw makes when someone reaches the bottom of the drink yet keeps on sucking.
I would nearly come awake at sharp needles of pain at my breast, my inner thigh, the soft skin on the inside of my elbow. I’d feel his body in mine, driving me toward orgasm, both of us tumbling together as he drank from me over and over and over again.
My life had become death, or perhaps my death was giving him life. I didn’t know. I couldn’t escape. I was so languid, I didn’t want to. The only thing anchoring me to this world was the sharp pull of his teeth and the constant pressure of him inside of me. I needed it and him; I craved it. I had truly become his slave.
I started up with a deep, gasping breath, as if coming from the depths of a lake and bursting through the surface into the sun.
The sun was shining. Jimmy was gone. My mouth was dry as the desert I’d visited in Sawyer’s dream. My head throbbed. 1 felt hungover, and I hadn’t even gotten any champagne.
I stumbled into the bathroom. I was pale and a helluva lot skinnier than I’d been when I went to bed. My ribs poked out; my stomach was concave, even my arms seemed bony. But my neck looked just fine. Quickly I checked my breasts, my thighs, my arms. Not a mark on me.
How much of that had been real? How long had I been out?
I showered, the hot water soothing the aches but increasing my light-headedness, and I needed to think. So I stepped out long before I was ready.
“Blood of his blood,” I murmured. “There has got to be another way.”
I didn’t know all that I should about the Nephilim and the ways to kill them. Since Ruthie’d died and Jimmy had become evil’s plaything I’d been a little busy.
I left the bathroom and walked into the main living area. A harem costume had been draped across the couch. If I wasn’t the only one with a sense of humor in this place, I’d think it was joke. But I knew better. Since the pantaloons and puffy sports bra were better than nothing, I put them on.
I felt like an idiot. I did not have the body for a two-piece. My breasts filled out the top just fine, but the rest of me was all muscle, with few curves, and my short hair only made me look like a teenage boy wearing an I Dream of Jeannie costume. Which was just too disturbing for words.
Next, I retrieved Ruthie’s crucifix from the drawer. Touching it had burned Jimmy. Sure he’d healed, but so far the icon was the only thing that had done any damage at all. The silver knife was useless, but the blessing on this symbol seemed to have some power. At least his frying flesh might distract him long enough for me to…
What? I needed some kind of plan.
Sawyer had said to use all I knew and all I had.
Ruthie’s crucifix was about it, except for the turquoise. I tucked both into my pocket. Couldn’t hurt.
I was just finishing a second cup of coffee when the elevator slid open. No one got off.
This was new. I stepped inside, attempted to push L just for the hell of it, but the only button that worked took me to the Strega’s lair.
I expected to find the harem waiting for me, but the room was empty. Were they all… occupied? The’ thought of walking in on the Strega, or worse, Jimmy— even worse, Jimmy and the Strega—with all of those women nearly made me get back on the elevator. But now was not the time to be squeamish. I needed guts to kill these guys. Seeing them in flagrante delicto was the least of my worries.
The war room was empty. I’d be nervous if the sun wasn’t up. I had to assume the majority of the vampire minions were all out cold. Ha-ha.
The Strega strolled in wearing a Hugh Hefner robe, loose silk trousers, and slippers. Despite the casual nature of the outfit, or perhaps because of it, he was still the creepiest thing I’d ever seen.
“What happened to the harem?” I asked.
“I ran out.”
Unease trickled down my spine as my costume took on a whole new meaning.
“You look well, seer, considering.” His eyes danced. The expression would have been joyous on anyone human. On him it made me ill. “Most women would be dead.”