Playing With Fire - Katie MacAlister [80]
‘‘I thought your depiction was clumsy, brutal, and extremely heavy-handed.’’
He did hiss this time, his face hard. ‘‘Women the world over swooned whenever I was on the screen. Swooned! Several committed suicide because of me!’’
‘‘That was just the Hollywood hype,’’ I said nonchalantly, aware that I was playing with fire (so to speak), but unable to express my fury in any other way at the untimely summons. ‘‘You had a very good manager, as I recall. I always did think he was smart to have you pretend to die just when you did. I doubt if you’d have kept your precious mystique if you’d been around much longer.’’
Magoth’s face worked for a moment before he regained control. I knew I was perilously close to being punished for my flip comments, but they served their purposes: they distracted him from thoughts of seduction of my nearly naked self, and they gave vent to my much-aggrieved spleen.
He strolled over to a bar, pouring himself a glass of sangria. I took the wicker seat across from him, ignoring the fact that two demons were also present in the pretty courtyard of what I assumed was his villa in Spain. ‘‘I find myself wondering if there is a purpose in your slanderous comments about my brief movie career,’’ he said with perfect suavity.
‘‘Just an idle thought. You haven’t worn your hair slicked back like that for a number of decades—it reminded me of when I first saw you.’’
He smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to behold. ‘‘I have toyed with the thought of returning to the screen, but alas, my schedule allows me little free time. Which brings me to an interesting bit of gossip I have heard.’’ His gaze dropped to the top of the blanket, the edge of which was tucked securely under my arm. ‘‘The word on the street is that you have mated with a dragon. A wyvern, to be exact.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said, fighting to control the fear that rose inside me. I knew this moment would come, and counted on Gabriel’s strength to see me through it.
One sleek black eyebrow rose. He sat, crossing one leg over the other, the glass of sangria dangling from his fingers. ‘‘That is all I am to expect from you on the subject?’’
‘‘There’s nothing to say. I met a wyvern, agreed that I was his mate, end of story.’’
‘‘Oh, I think not,’’ he said with amusement. My stomach contracted. Gabriel would probably be furious and worried about my sudden disappearance from his bed. What if he came after me? What would Magoth do to Gabriel if he managed to track me down in order to rescue me? ‘‘There is another rumor that I have heard, one that I find even more intriguing.’’
I frowned, running my mind back over the last couple of days. With the quintessence returned to Kostich, there was nothing I’d done in the last few days that would be of any interest to Magoth. ‘‘What rumor?’’
‘‘It is said that a thief taker finally caught you.’’ He leaned back along the rattan chaise, patting the cushion next to him. ‘‘Let us not be so formal. Come sit with me.’’
‘‘I’m fine where I am,’’ I said, oddly relieved that he didn’t seem to be trying to enthrall me.
‘‘This is not an invitation,’’ he answered, the force in his voice compelling me to move from the sanctuary of my chair. Reluctantly, I clutched the blanket tight around myself and perched on the edge of the chaise, as far away from him as I could manage.
‘‘There, now, isn’t that more comfortable?’’ He dropped a hand on my blanket-covered knee, lolling back. In an instant, the demons moving silently around in the background were gone . . . as were Magoth’s clothes.
‘‘I believe I will start a clothing-optional hotel on the southern coast,’’ he said with studied nonchalance. ‘‘I find the human form so much more pleasing when it is not hidden away behind garments.’’
I slapped his hand away from where it had crept toward the knot of the blanket. ‘‘That depends on the body in question. I prefer to remain clothed, thank you.’’
‘‘Sweet May. Sweet, adorable May. Does my form please you? I have thought of changing it, but there