Page 22 of Strange Familiar (Warriors of Magic #2)

~22~

H er naked body beneath him, Alise’s tension, which had been gradually increasing since that final, delicious climax, suddenly leapt to high intensity, as if she were a bird that might take flight. Also like a bird, however, her delicately boned body easily yielded to even his meager strength. “I’m not taking no for an answer,” he warned her and her lushly fringed, wizard-black eyes sparked fury at him.

“How can I say no when you didn’t even ask the question,” she spat.

“Alise, will you come away from House Elal with me?”

“No!”

He sighed, dropping his forehead to her bosom. “I’m not taking that answer.”

“What happened to not pushing?” she demanded. Her magic heated with the room, the wine scent intoxicating, the feel of roses so palpable he almost expected the prick of thorns. But she didn’t use her wizardry against him, which he counted on. Alise might not want to admit she loved him, just as she had pretended to be entertaining the courtship of those fawning familiars, but he knew her through and through. He saw the goodness, the kindness, the generous heart in her, even if she didn’t. The way she’d responded to him, first the touch of hands, then the kiss, then the ardency of her lovemaking—it all erased any doubt he’d harbored.

And there was no way he would leave her here. Her father had tried to warp her into his mold. Given more time, he might even succeed. Cillian didn’t know what methods Piers Elal had used to change his daughter’s thinking, but he doubted Alise had been aware of them.

“I said I wouldn’t push about our relationship. Even though you were the one to propose that we have a love affair,” he reminded her, not above needling her, rather enjoying her embarrassed and annoyed flush.

“That was a long time ago.”

“A few months isn’t a long time.”

“Time and place,” she snapped, making a sudden furious attempt to wriggle out from under him. He was very glad that he’d been the one to set the privacy shield. She’d done it to demonstrate her unwillingness to talk privately, but had ended up handing him leverage. If she got mad enough, she might’ve tried to dispel the shield to end this interlude. “That was then; this is now and I’m not going anywhere with you, Cillian Harahel.”

“You could always come back,” he said reasonably, calmly, willing her to listen. “What are you afraid of?”

“Not you,” she countered, glaring, her struggles subsiding.

“Well then. Come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he insisted. “Remember? Not a prisoner.”

“Cillian, you don’t understand.” Tears welled in her eyes, though she tried to sniffle them back, and he suspected he understood far too well.

“Maybe not,” he told her gently, kissing the tears from the corners of her eyes where they leaked out. “Maybe you can never tell me all that happened to you here, but I do understand that I can’t leave you here, all alone, with that monster.”

“He’s not so bad,” she protested, though weakly.

“Yes, he is. And the fact that you even say that makes me more determined to get you away.”

“Cillian…” She’d begun crying in earnest, so he shifted to the side, cuddling her close, no longer needing to keep her from flying away. “I’m not a good person.”

Though he wanted to deny it immediately, he knew it would make more impact if he took her seriously, gave her a thoughtful answer. “I think that maybe none of us are good or bad people,” he said slowly, “only the actions we take and how that affects us, others, and the world.”

She’d buried her face against his chest, so he stroked the short, silky feathers of her black hair. So infinitely precious to him. “That sounds like an excuse,” she said, muffled. “And, besides, I’ve done bad things. You don’t know what I—”

“Shh.” He kissed the top of her head. “You can tell me another time, if you still want to. But you should know I don’t care. I love you no matter what.”

She gave a watery laugh and pulled back to look at him. “Yes, well, you loved Szarina and look what a shit she turned out to be.”

“I never loved Szarina,” he told her gravely, then kissed her, tasting salt and regret and fear on her lips. “I only knew real love when I met you.”

She gazed at him, a myriad of emotions passing over her face. “You’re absurd.”

“Very likely, but that doesn’t change how madly, deeply I love you.”

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips. “I thought you were all determined to let me go, to bond a familiar, live my life and become Lady Elal.”

“I can and will do all of that and still love you.”

“But you won’t just go and let me stay here.”

He studied her face, so lovely in the flickering light, the despair in her so clear. “No. I can’t in good conscience abandon you to him.”

“Cillian, he’ll take Bria in my place. I can’t—”

“I have news on that front, also. Grandmother, once we settled our differences, allowed me to present the problem to House Harahel’s finest legal librarians. They believe we have plenty to keep this issue tangled up in the courts for years. By then we’ll have dealt with him—along with all the conspirators against House Phel.”

She cocked her head, clearly surprised. “House Harahel would help with that?”

“We already are. No one is touching Bria. She’s safe from your father.”

“You’re that confident.”

He considered, going through all the logical points he’d assimilated. “Yes.”

She smiled, started to laugh, then sobered. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Come away with me in the morning and I’ll show you.”

“He might not let me go easily.”

“I have a solution to that,” he told her.

Her winged brows climbed. “Even this newly confident and daring Cillian Harahel can’t be planning to engage in a duel with my father.”

He liked that, that she found him newly confident and daring—and that she even considered the possibility that he might duel her father for her. Not Sylus devastating his enemies, but a wizard worthy of the name. Someone to be reckoned with. Except that he wasn’t that sort of wizard. He planned to win by guile. And the old-fashioned Harahel way.

“You’ll see,” he promised.

“What will you do?”

“It’s better if you don’t know. You’ll see in the morning.”

“I think it almost is morning.

She was probably right. He slid his thigh between hers, kissing her deeply, loving how she went hot and supple against him. “I know just how to spend the time,” he said against her lips.

To his everlasting delight, she agreed.

They assembled for breakfast in a different salon, this one filled with morning light. Alise had harnessed a grooming imp for him, so he was at least clean, though he wore the same clothes, considerably more rumpled from a night on the floor. She had slipped out in the early morning hours, returning to her chambers, and had donned a fresh outfit. Fancier than she’d been in the habit of wearing as a student, with pants of Ophiel-fitted black leather and a deep green blouse with flowing sleeves caught up in embroidered cuffs at the wrist and a black vest over it embossed with the Elal crest. Her skin glowed with satiated happiness and her dark eyes sparkled like the green jewels she’d fastened to her ear lobes.

The five familiars joined them, exclaiming over her loveliness, fussing with each other to be the first to provide her with her favorite pastries and beverages. Cillian found he didn’t mind. Alise was incredibly lovely this morning—and he took full credit for the bloom in her cheeks. Even the advent of Piers Elal didn’t dim her radiance much.

Elal scowled at them all, levelling an extra hard glare at Cillian. “Still here?” he grunted.

“Leaving directly after breakfast, Lord Elal,” Cillian answered cheerfully.

“Good.” He sat, a servant placing a generous platter of eggs, beef, beans, and bread before him. Then he took note of the glass bottle of red oil beside his place. “What’s this?”

“Regards from Lady Harahel,” Cillian answered, placing a hand over his heart in a polite gesture, bowing slightly from the waist.

“órlaith means to poison me, does she?” Piers barked out a laugh and held up the bottle. “It won’t work. I can detect poison.”

“Of course, Lord Elal,” Cillian replied smoothly, “so you’ll have reassured yourself that there’s no poison here. My grandmother sent this with her apologies for her inhospitality to Wizard Alise. She mentioned that you’d been fond of her ERS oil back at Convocation Academy, and had particularly enjoyed it to spice up your eggs at breakfast.”

Lord Elal considered Cillian and the flask. “That was a long time ago. I’m surprised órlaith remembers that.”

“She said you would.” Which was absolutely true. Cillian skipped pointing out that his grandmother, as a librarian wizard powerful enough to head her house possessed a meticulously trained and magically fueled memory. Careless of Elal to ignore that. “She also mentioned that you were one of the few she’d ever known who could withstand the heat level.”

“True, true.” Piers Elal considered the sauce, the spirits trapped in the metal-bound globe of the mechanical eye whirling idly. He dabbed a bit on his finger and tasted it, then blew out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Volcanic. Would you like some?” He extended the vial toward Cillian’s plate.

Cillian made a pained face and pressed a hand to his stomach. “It’s far too spicy for me. I’m afraid I have a rather, ah, delicate constitution.”

As he’d calculated, Lord Elal sneered at that, casting a speaking look at Alise, who’d been watching the exchange in silence, quietly eating the pastry Wim had plated for her. “This fragile pretty boy is who you picked?” he asked, disgusted, pouring a great deal of the ERS oil over his eggs, making a show of it. “I don’t understand your taste, Daughter.”

Alise gazed over at him, black eyes wide and thoughtful. “I like pretty boys.” The other five, admittedly very pretty young men around the table all looked at Cillian, too.

Cillian simply watched Lord Elal as he shoveled the spicy eggs into his mouth, pretending to be admiring. “I’ve never seen anyone capable of eating so much of my grandmother’s oil before.”

Lord Elal waved that off, though his face had gone bright red, beads of sweat forming on his temples and forehead. “The burn is the best part,” he declared, then thumped his chest with the meat of his fist, punching out a juicy belch that had one of the familiars flinching in disgust and Alise rolling her eyes.

“Excellent,” Piers proclaimed, then pointed his fork at Cillian. A smear of red oil stained his beard. “You tell órlaith she hasn’t lost her touch. Exquisitely brewed, as always. Perhaps even hotter now.”

“She’s been tweaking the recipe over the years,” Cillian replied.

“Eh, well, good that she has something to do with her time. Never did understand the charm of living out at House Harahel in the back of beyond. ‘What do you do all day?’ I asked her once and she said ‘read.’ Ha!” He bellowed a laugh that smelled unpleasantly of ERS oil combined with digestive fluids.

Alise caught Cillian’s eye and raised her brows slightly. He gave a reassuring smile. Any moment now. “Speaking of House Harahel,” he said, “I should be heading home soon. If I could trouble you, Lord Elal, to ask that my carriage be readied?”

“Already is.” Piers shifted in his chair, gaze turned inward, an odd expression on his face. Then he pinned Cillian with a glare with his one remaining black eye. “I didn’t want any delay in seeing the back of you.”

“A perfectly understandable sentiment,” Cillian noted mildly, rewarded by Lord Elal’s frown as he sorted through the remark for insult.

“Once you—” Lord Elal broke off, a loud gurgle coming from his gut. “Something seems to not be sitting well with me.”

“It has been a long time since you had my grandmother’s ERS oil,” Cillian replied with sympathy, “and you mentioned she’s brewed it hotter than it used to be. Perhaps you’ve lost your tolerance?”

“I’ve only grown stronger over the years,” Elal insisted. He got a very odd look on his face, then actually squirmed in his chair. “You’ll have to excuse me, young Harahel,” he said, stating it like an order. “I must, ah, take care of something, so I won’t be able to see you off personally. But don’t get ideas, you—” He paled and stood abruptly. “I want you gone. No lingering.”

“Oh, believe me, Lord Elal, I intend to go immediately,” Cillian promised with absolute sincerity.

The wizard practically fled the room and Cillian found himself hard-pressed not to show his amusement and satisfaction. That had worked even better and faster than his grandmother had promised, no doubt due to the excessive amount of ERS oil Elal had slathered on his meal.

“What happened to Lord Elal?” Zim wondered. Gim and Tim snickered.

Cillian turned to Alise. “Would you see me out Wizard Elal, in lieu of your father?”

“I’d be delighted Wizard Harahel,” she replied demurely.

The five familiars watched Cillian escort her out of the room, looking rather forlorn. He felt sorry for them, but not so much that he didn’t indulge himself by setting a hand on the small of Alise’s back as they passed through the doorway. Mine.

She slid him the side-eye. “Did you just pull a possessive move?”

“I’m a librarian and an intellectual,” he answered in a lofty tone, “which does not make me a more evolved human being. Fuck those guys.”

A sound suspiciously like a giggle suppressed into a snort came out of her. “We should hurry.”

“Yes, but not so fast as to look suspicious. He’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“What did you do to my father, anyway?”

“You were right there. You saw exactly what happened. I did nothing.” Since his hand was still on the sweet curve of her back, he stroked her there, savoring that he could.

“It wasn’t poison.”

“It wasn’t poison,” he agreed. “Just my sweet little old grandmother’s ERS oil. Do you know how it got its name? When we were kids,” he continued without pausing, “my grandmother made a batch of her usual spicy red sauce. Partway through the simmering process, she became distracted.” Looking back, it occurred to him that likely Lady Harahel had been distracted by house business. “She served it at dinner that night to add some fire to a fairly bland meal of potatoes and white fish. And every one of us spent the night in the loo.”

He laughed at her horrified expression. “Oh, we were fine. Eventually, but those hours of extremity.” He mock shuddered. “Well, I only wish them on my worst enemy.”

“My father is—”

“Is your father,” he interrupted firmly. “I won’t tell you how to feel about him, but neither can you direct how I think and feel.” She was quiet a moment, the great doors to the outer courtyard looming. Cillian began to worry that he should’ve kept his big mouth shut until he had her in the carriage. Though what would he do if she’d changed her mind even then—restrain her?

She paused, and he braced himself, ready for the argument where she’d changed her mind and would refuse to go with him. But she reached behind a podium holding a suit of armor and pulled out her bag, which she’d clearly hidden with excellent forethought. She resumed their purposeful stroll into the courtyard and his carriage waiting there.

“Cillian?” She said his name as a question, and he kicked himself. You only had to wait a few more minutes. “You didn’t say why you called it ERS.”

He nearly laughed in relief, taking her bag, and holding the carriage door open for her. “E.R.S,” he spelled out, “for evil red sauce.”