Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [30]
A panel on the wall slid open. The man who stepped out was tall and golden. His chest gleamed and rippled with muscle. The tattoo over his heart was of a horned goat. He wore only an open black robe carelessly belted at the waist with silver cord.
“Alban.” Selina ran to him, threw her arms around him.
“There, my love.” His voice was deep, soothing. On the hand that stroked her hair was a large silver ring carved with an inverted pentagram. “You mustn’t unbalance your chakras.”
“Fuck my chakras.” She was weeping now, wildly, pounding on him like a child in a blind tantrum. “I hate her. I hate her. She has to be punished.”
With a sigh, he let her go to storm the room, cursing, smashing crockery. He knew the temper would pass more quickly if he stood back and let it purge.
“I want her dead, Alban. Dead. I want her to suffer agonies, to scream for mercy, to bleed and writhe and bleed. She insulted me. She challenged me. She all but laughed in my face.”
“She doesn’t believe, Selina. She has no vision.”
Exhausted as always after a fit of temper, she collapsed on the settee. “Cops. I’ve hated them all my life.”
“I know.” He picked up a tall, slim bottle, poured her some thick, cloudy liquid. “We’ll have to be careful with her. She’s very high-profile.” He passed her a chalice. “But we’ll think of something, won’t we?”
“Of course we will.” She smiled again, sipped slowly at the brew. “Something very special. The master would want something…inventive in her case.” Now she laughed, full-throated, head thrown back. The police had been the bane of her existence—until she’d discovered a higher power. “We’ll make a believer out of her, won’t we, Alban?”
“She’ll believe.”
She drank deeply now, felt the lovely haze coat her tangled emotions. And let the chalice drop. “Come here, and take me.” Eyes glittering, she slid down. “Force me.”
And when he covered her body with his, she turned her head, bared her teeth, and dug them into his shoulder to draw blood.
“Hurt me,” she demanded.
“With pleasure.” he replied.
And when they lay apart, their violent passion sated, he lay quiet beside her. She would revive now, he knew. She would cool and she would calm, and she would think.
“We should preform a ceremony tonight. Call together the entire coven for a Black Mass. We need power, Alban. She isn’t weak, and she wants to destroy us.”
“She won’t.” With affection now, he stroked her cheek. “She can’t. After all, she’s only a cop with no past and a limited future. But you’re right, of course, we’ll call the coven. We’ll perform the rite. And, I think, we’ll provide Lieutenant Dallas with a distraction—or two. She won’t have the time or inclination to worry overmuch about little Alice for long.”
Fresh arousal rippled through her, a dark wave that flooded into her eyes. “Who dies?”
“My love.” He lifted her, speared her, sighed when her muscles clamped viciously around him. “You have only to choose.”
“You really pissed her off.” Peabody struggled to ignore the light sweat of fear that dried on her skin as Eve drove away from the building.
“That was the idea. Now that I know control isn’t her strong point, I’ll be sure to piss her off again. She’s all ego,” Eve decided. “Imagine, thinking we’d fall for a second-rate trick like the fire.”
“Yeah.” Peabody managed a sickly smile. “Imagine.”
Eve tucked her tongue in her cheek and decided against ragging on her aide. “Since we’re into witches, let’s swing by and check out this Isis at Spirit Quest.” She slid her eyes right. Well, maybe she’d rag just a little. “You can probably buy a talisman or some herbs,” she said solemnly. “You know, to ward off evil.”
Peabody shifted in her seat. Feeling foolish wasn’t nearly as bad as worrying about being cursed. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“After we deal with Isis, we can grab a pizza sub—with plenty of garlic.”
“Garlic’s for vampires.”
“Oh. We can have Roarke get us a couple of his antique guns. With silver bullets.”
“Werewolves, Dallas.” Amused at both of them now, Peabody rolled her eyes. “A lot of good you’re going to do if