Nightwalker
Page 23
All the more reason why it felt strange to be living in peace with the man. But he was willing to give it a shot and he would make a genuine effort to believe him.
He only hoped his faith wasn’t being misplaced. If Kamen turned on them at a crucial moment, all could be lost.
But then Jackson recalled that oddly affectionate little caress Kamen had given the Wraith. For the first time he saw Kamen as being more like the rest of them…instead of this highly disciplined and highly unapproachable creature. That single sign of tenderness had made him seem instantly more approachable…more fallible and more real. More normal.
“I would like to help too,” Viève said eagerly.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Jackson said. He swept his eyes between Kamen, who had returned to studying, and Viève, who had moved over to him to help. She reached out to touch his shoulders, squeezing them as she leaned against his back to peer over his shoulder. Kamen didn’t shrug her off or complain about the intimacy, and Jackson took heart in the act. There was definitely something going on there. Only time would tell what it was exactly, but for now…for now he turned and left the room, leaving the couple alone. Sometimes these things were better left to grow slowly with time.
So he did just that.
Chapter 8
Kamen was deep in thought one moment, then thoroughly distracted the next. Viève’s hands were on his shoulders, absently massaging the tense muscles there. When he’d been with the Templars he’d had full body massages on a regular basis, along with manicures and pedicures and other such luxuries that came with wealth, power, and position. But he had none of those things now. He had no wealth and was completely dependent on the good graces and wealth of the body Politic. He had no power other than the power of his magic. And his position amongst these former enemies was the lowest it could possibly have been.
How the mighty have fallen, he thought wryly.
But he had made this choice. He could easily have chosen to continue to serve Odjit/Apep, probably even maintaining a position of wealth and comfort in the process. But that would only have been until he did something to displease Apep. Then he would be as easily discarded as a used tissue.
Yet it wasn’t fear of that that had motivated him to switch sides. He had been a blind fool when it came to Odjit. And he had to right all of his wrongs…if such a thing were even possible.
So he gladly accepted his lack of means and position. It was as he deserved. But that had meant leaving behind such treasures as a simple massage.
And yet this was no simple massage. This massage stirred him, swept heat over his shoulders and made him aware of her weight, slight as it was, pressing into his back. He felt her breasts against his spine as her fingers worked absently on his shoulders. She was looking over his shoulder at the pages of the journal he held in his hands. He gripped it tightly to keep himself from turning in his chair and grabbing hold of her. He fantasized dragging her into his lap, settling her backside against his growing erection.
The sensation took his breath away. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been sexually aroused by a woman. Certainly not in his present lifetime…maybe not even in the one before it either. True, he had only been in this body for ten years, but that was plenty of time to nurture a need if it had come. Only it had never come and he had never sought it. He had deemed himself above such base pleasures of the flesh.
And yet, here he was. And with, of all things, a Wraith. A race notoriously cold and callous. A race, according to Viève, with no sexuality except a mating drive that struck once every few years. Whatever a few years meant. Three? Five? Ten? More? The Wraiths were just as immortal as all the Nightwalker races and could live for centuries under the right conditions. The drive to mate every decade would not be so inconceivable in the grand scheme.
But she was no normal Wraith. They had established that from the beginning. What did that mean for her sex drive?
Wait. What was he thinking? This should not matter to him! None of this should even be making any kind of impression on him. He was well beyond such animalistic behaviors!
“What can I do to help?” she asked in a whisper near his ear. Her warm breath washed against him and his resolve weakened even as his body tightened further. He stood up suddenly, nearly knocking her over backward, as he took several steps and put distance between them. He began to glare at her, but her honest puzzlement made him realize she had no idea what she had done to affect him. These had not been calculated acts of seduction.
It made him feel twice as foolish. Imagine, he thought, what she could do to him if she were to put her mind to it!
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He floundered for a response. Honesty sprang to the forefront, but he held the reaction in check. He did not wish to encourage her, and honesty might do exactly that.
“I am not used to being crowded as I work,” he said. Honest yet not entirely. It would have to do.
“Oh. I am sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He couldn’t keep himself from thinking what a pity that was. But he brushed the sentiment aside.
“Very well,” he said, edging back toward the desk and watching her warily. She moved back a step to give him room and he took a tense seat. He began to thumb through the pages of his journal again slowly, but quickly realized he wasn’t seeing the pages; he was too concerned with the woman hovering back behind his left shoulder. She was giving him room, yet he felt her as if she were still leaning against him.
He went back a few pages and tried to focus once again. Before her arrival, he had been focused on three books at once. Now it was a chore to focus on the one. He redoubled his efforts. He must find the witness spell. He was certain he had seen it, almost certain he had written it into his journal of spells. But his journal spanned volumes. He was guessing it was in the volume before the one he was presently recording spells into. Recent, but not too recent.
He looked at the spell compendiums also laid open on his desk. He knew it was in one of these three books. But it was hard to remember things from a lifetime ago.
As he thought of these things, he began to feel centered again. He was still aware of her…very much so…but she kept her distance as she had agreed to do and that helped.
“Surely there’s something I can do?”
“Only if you can read Arabic, for that is what I write in.” He showed her his journal, written in very neat Arabic. “These others are in Sanskrit and French. I am having trouble deciding if the spell is very old or if it was of a newer bent. I know it is in one of these volumes.”
He only hoped his faith wasn’t being misplaced. If Kamen turned on them at a crucial moment, all could be lost.
But then Jackson recalled that oddly affectionate little caress Kamen had given the Wraith. For the first time he saw Kamen as being more like the rest of them…instead of this highly disciplined and highly unapproachable creature. That single sign of tenderness had made him seem instantly more approachable…more fallible and more real. More normal.
“I would like to help too,” Viève said eagerly.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Jackson said. He swept his eyes between Kamen, who had returned to studying, and Viève, who had moved over to him to help. She reached out to touch his shoulders, squeezing them as she leaned against his back to peer over his shoulder. Kamen didn’t shrug her off or complain about the intimacy, and Jackson took heart in the act. There was definitely something going on there. Only time would tell what it was exactly, but for now…for now he turned and left the room, leaving the couple alone. Sometimes these things were better left to grow slowly with time.
So he did just that.
Chapter 8
Kamen was deep in thought one moment, then thoroughly distracted the next. Viève’s hands were on his shoulders, absently massaging the tense muscles there. When he’d been with the Templars he’d had full body massages on a regular basis, along with manicures and pedicures and other such luxuries that came with wealth, power, and position. But he had none of those things now. He had no wealth and was completely dependent on the good graces and wealth of the body Politic. He had no power other than the power of his magic. And his position amongst these former enemies was the lowest it could possibly have been.
How the mighty have fallen, he thought wryly.
But he had made this choice. He could easily have chosen to continue to serve Odjit/Apep, probably even maintaining a position of wealth and comfort in the process. But that would only have been until he did something to displease Apep. Then he would be as easily discarded as a used tissue.
Yet it wasn’t fear of that that had motivated him to switch sides. He had been a blind fool when it came to Odjit. And he had to right all of his wrongs…if such a thing were even possible.
So he gladly accepted his lack of means and position. It was as he deserved. But that had meant leaving behind such treasures as a simple massage.
And yet this was no simple massage. This massage stirred him, swept heat over his shoulders and made him aware of her weight, slight as it was, pressing into his back. He felt her breasts against his spine as her fingers worked absently on his shoulders. She was looking over his shoulder at the pages of the journal he held in his hands. He gripped it tightly to keep himself from turning in his chair and grabbing hold of her. He fantasized dragging her into his lap, settling her backside against his growing erection.
The sensation took his breath away. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been sexually aroused by a woman. Certainly not in his present lifetime…maybe not even in the one before it either. True, he had only been in this body for ten years, but that was plenty of time to nurture a need if it had come. Only it had never come and he had never sought it. He had deemed himself above such base pleasures of the flesh.
And yet, here he was. And with, of all things, a Wraith. A race notoriously cold and callous. A race, according to Viève, with no sexuality except a mating drive that struck once every few years. Whatever a few years meant. Three? Five? Ten? More? The Wraiths were just as immortal as all the Nightwalker races and could live for centuries under the right conditions. The drive to mate every decade would not be so inconceivable in the grand scheme.
But she was no normal Wraith. They had established that from the beginning. What did that mean for her sex drive?
Wait. What was he thinking? This should not matter to him! None of this should even be making any kind of impression on him. He was well beyond such animalistic behaviors!
“What can I do to help?” she asked in a whisper near his ear. Her warm breath washed against him and his resolve weakened even as his body tightened further. He stood up suddenly, nearly knocking her over backward, as he took several steps and put distance between them. He began to glare at her, but her honest puzzlement made him realize she had no idea what she had done to affect him. These had not been calculated acts of seduction.
It made him feel twice as foolish. Imagine, he thought, what she could do to him if she were to put her mind to it!
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He floundered for a response. Honesty sprang to the forefront, but he held the reaction in check. He did not wish to encourage her, and honesty might do exactly that.
“I am not used to being crowded as I work,” he said. Honest yet not entirely. It would have to do.
“Oh. I am sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He couldn’t keep himself from thinking what a pity that was. But he brushed the sentiment aside.
“Very well,” he said, edging back toward the desk and watching her warily. She moved back a step to give him room and he took a tense seat. He began to thumb through the pages of his journal again slowly, but quickly realized he wasn’t seeing the pages; he was too concerned with the woman hovering back behind his left shoulder. She was giving him room, yet he felt her as if she were still leaning against him.
He went back a few pages and tried to focus once again. Before her arrival, he had been focused on three books at once. Now it was a chore to focus on the one. He redoubled his efforts. He must find the witness spell. He was certain he had seen it, almost certain he had written it into his journal of spells. But his journal spanned volumes. He was guessing it was in the volume before the one he was presently recording spells into. Recent, but not too recent.
He looked at the spell compendiums also laid open on his desk. He knew it was in one of these three books. But it was hard to remember things from a lifetime ago.
As he thought of these things, he began to feel centered again. He was still aware of her…very much so…but she kept her distance as she had agreed to do and that helped.
“Surely there’s something I can do?”
“Only if you can read Arabic, for that is what I write in.” He showed her his journal, written in very neat Arabic. “These others are in Sanskrit and French. I am having trouble deciding if the spell is very old or if it was of a newer bent. I know it is in one of these volumes.”
