She gasped. That hadn’t happened since all those years ago at the morgue. She’d all but forgotten it.
Had she just moved the furniture with her mind? One way to find out. She returned to his museum, filled with his precious relics. His priceless ones. What better place to test an unpredictable power!
She eyed a small vase across the room. She inhaled, exhaled, then pictured lifting it. . . .
The vase wobbled!
Holy shit, she was telekinetic! More clearly she saw that vision of the crumbling world and the dark-eyed woman—she’d been using her hand to control her telekinesis.
Jo aimed her palm at the vase and tried to raise it. The thing shattered. Uh-oh. Hope he didn’t like that one. She turned to another antique, a delicate-looking box atop a marble pedestal.
Pressing down telekinetically would have to be easier than lifting. She concentrated on flattening the box and waved her palm down. The box—and the pedestal—were crushed.
Awesome!
But she wasn’t managing a focused beam like that woman’s. Jo needed more practice. Rune’s collection was making a great shooting gallery.
She turned to a medium-size bust of some man who’d probably written books Jo couldn’t read. Asshole.
BOOM! She laughed as chunks of marble landed all across the room. Okay, not focused, but Hulk-smash was more Jo’s style anyway.
Then came the real test. Would she be able to wield her telekinesis while ghosting?
She dematerialized. Floating like a speck of nothing, she gazed from one treasure to the next. Which one to practice on? He’d said these were war prizes, but she’d bet some were gifts from women he’d screwed.
When Jo pictured him in bed with beautiful nymphs—gazing down at them with those seductive eyes—a wave of power blasted from her mind.
The sound of destruction rang in her ears. Crashing, ripping, shattering. Once the dust settled, she blinked in disbelief. She’d trashed everything in the room.
Hulk. Smash.
He was overly proud of his home, would be furious when he saw the damage. Lady Shady gazed around with a discerning eye.
I’ll smash it all to bits. Payback for hurting her heart.
She turned to the next room to practice some more. She’d been a killer before. With these new talents, she would be an undefeatable one.
She frowned. Nïx had made it sound as if Thaddie was like Jo. If so, how could he cope with changes like these?
With the Valkyrie’s help?
Jo had been forced to let MizB raise Thad; she’d be damned if Nïx took over from here on out.
Change of plans, Nïx. Jo would definitely be getting access to Thad, but not in the way the Valkyrie had envisioned. Jo wasn’t going to spy on anyone; instead she’d do what she did best.
Before Rune got another chance at Nïx . . .
I’m going to kill her.
THIRTY
Rune’s face was buried between two of the finest nymph breasts in Loredom, his hands full of them, and he was kissing his way toward a taut nipple.
Just what he’d needed.
His soon-to-be-shed trews were the only thing preventing him from shoving inside his partner, Dalliance.
The word had been derived from her, the epitome of amorous toying. She had been for millennia. She had long black hair, wide gray eyes, and a body men had actually killed to possess.
She arched her back in readiness, her fingers threading into his hair. His lips closed around a nipple, but his teeth didn’t click against a piercing. No warm metal teased his tongue.
Often imitated, never duplicated.
Concentrate on what you’re doing! He knew what she liked, could satisfy her in his sleep. The two of them went way back, had shared clients and patrons, fucking for the entertainment of others at exclusive gigs.
Every now and then, they’d hook up for old times’ sake. He’d selected her today, instead of a bevy all for himself.
The difference between him and Dalli? She’d chosen her line of work at the outset.
The night Magh had sold Rune to a brothel, he’d just seen his mother’s grave and been devastated to learn of her fate.
Then he’d learned of his.
“You’ve been a whore for so long, I thought we should make it official,” Magh said. “Here, you will please your customers, cur. Or perish. At the end of each night, a guard will raise a sword over your neck. If you were a good whore, you’ll retain your life. The first complaint you receive will be your last. You had better hurry. Dawn nears, and no one in your long line appears . . . pleased.”
The creature at the start of the line had been hideous, yet he’d known he would somehow have to pleasure her, to bury his disgust and ignore the blistering wrath he’d felt over his mother’s death.
Please or perish. In the intervening years, many of his customers hadn’t been “pleased” with anything less than his body beaten and bloody.
Concentrate. Soon Dalli would notice his distraction. He turned his thoughts to the vampire to stay hard.
His mind raced from one image of her to another. Her little fangs. Her incomparable curves that seemed made for him alone. Her ethereal face when she was about to come. Her flashing hazel eyes when she smiled.
He’d made her smile. She’d smiled in bed with him. Had thanked him.
No! The vampire loved another. All that had been an act. Everything about their night together had been false.
Dalli cleared her throat and sat up. “I called your name twice. But you’re not even here, are you?” He didn’t deny it. “I can always tell when you check out—your eyes glaze over.” She knew more about his early centuries than anyone still living. She alone knew he feared becoming so deadened he’d never feel alive again.