Chapter Four: Nicci is incomprehensible, Shota is surely incompetent, and Darken hasn't even had his morning coffee yet.

Quotes:

"And, of course, it was true that he had taken himself every inch of the way." –2,2 The Devil's Web by Mary Balogh

"I don't know." –2,2 The Silent Tower by Barbara Hambly

Sex Magic

Darken stared at Nicci for one bewildered moment—did it escape her notice that by returning here she had placed herself in his power once again?—and then shook his head and focused on Rosamund.

She was still standing there, looking confused, worried, and (Darken noticed with a certain smug satisfaction) a little aroused. He made no move to cover his nakedness, but said, "Fetch the witch, Mistress Rosamund. And the herb mixture and phial of virgin's tears."

"Yes, my Lord," said Rosamund, still looking a little shaken. She turned and left.

Darken got up, rubbing his face distractedly. Nicci had gotten under his skin for the last time. He was going to finish this now. All her Han would be his. Perhaps he'd even let her live.

A man could get tired of having only Mord'Sith, no matter how attractive, after all.

He gestured prudently at the thought, and ropes sprang into being, wrapping themselves around Nicci's wrists and ankles. She'd be able to escape them in time, of course, but they'd hold her until he found the spare Rada'Han in the back of the closet. Or until Shota finished the rituals to transfer all her Han to him. He already had a significant percentage. But why leave her with anything she could use against him?

Nicci squirmed a bit on the bed, trying to get comfortable. She was no longer laughing, but her eyes glinted in amusement.

Darken felt annoyance (and other emotions) rising in him, and pulled his long vest over his head with a muffled curse. How could Nicci get to him like this?

"My Lord," Rosamund said, dragging Shota into the bedroom by her hair. She balanced the other ingredients under her arm.

"Finish the spell," growled Darken, gesturing to Nicci without looking at her.

Nicci laughed again. "Her? She can't even imagine the depths of my power. And you can't keep me here forever."

"I don't need to," growled Darken, hating himself for answering her.

At the touch of Rosamund's agiel, Shota obediently began setting up the ritual. Darken squeezed more blood from the cut on his arm, and used his knife to make a deep and painful gash on the arch of Nicci's foot. She glared at him.

Shota began the transference, mixing the virgin's tears with Nicci's blood; magic loved virgins, it would always bind itself to them above anyone else. But as Shota called forth the Han-filled virgin's tears with the salad of herbs, she gasped suddenly. "This isn't going to work," she said, staring at an image only she could see in one of the virgin's tears.

"Why not?" Darken said sharply, suspecting her of deceit.

"I don't know."

Rosamund made a threatening move with her agiel.

"Well," Shota said quickly, scared into speech. "It might be—" quickly, she wafted the tears into Darken's blood and finished the ritual with a few chosen words. Darken felt no different, and if he narrowed his second sight he could still see Nicci's Han pulsating warmly from her chest.

He swallowed, and turned back to Shota, reflecting that he might well have steered himself into trouble now—and, of course, it was true that he had taken himself every inch of the way. As always, he thought bitterly.

Why wasn't the ritual working? Was it Shota's sabotage? Or—

"Sex magic," Shota breathed, staring into the mixture. Instead of turning clear, as usual, it was a swirling purple.

"Oh, Underworld," Nicci said crossly. For once, Darken was in perfect agreement.