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Fatal Circle
(The third book in the Persephone Alcmedi series)
Linda Robertson
We do not, most of us, choose to die;
nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death.
But within this realm of choicelessness,
we do choose how we live.
—Ambition: The Secret Passion, Joseph Epstein
This one’s for my own wolfy bad-boy rocker, Jim.
Thank Yous:
Red-Caped Hero Thanks
Paula Guran
I’m upgrading you from the usual “margarita thanks” to the Hero’s Cape for this one.
Java-n-Chocolate Thanks
Michelle, Melissa, Laura, Emily, Faith, Rachel, and Tracy
To my writing group, the Ohio Writer’s Network (OWN)
for reading, critiques, support, and the friendship. It’s priceless.
High-Frequency Thanks
Billy Nyte & Syrinx at NRRRadio.
Cookie Monster Thanks
Sha
For reading and sharing baked goods. Yum!
Tour du Jour Thanks
Scollard. You always have answers.
Reverent Gratitude
For the Many-named Muse. You still rock.
Extra Thanks
To the copyeditors, reviewers, and bloggers and tweeters.
To Jolly Rancher because your Hot Ci
CHAPTER ONE
My living room clock read two-forty-six A.M. It was no longer Hallowe’en night, but All Hallows’ Day. Or, as some called it, All Saints’ Day. But it was no saint who held me in his arms—it was a waerewolf.
“I think you’d like my apartment, Red.” Red. That’s me. Persephone Alcmedi to the rest of the world. Seph to some. Red only to Joh
I wasn’t fooled. “It’s a glorified dorm room, isn’t it?”
“If by ‘glorified,’ you mean it has a private bathroom, then yes.” Joh
I’d had to forfeit my home’s vampire defenses three weeks before to save a friend’s life and Joh
“C’mon.” Joh
We’d both had a hell of an evening. Words like “hectic” or “demanding” didn’t begin to cover it. But evidently I was the only one suffering from fatigue.
His band, Lycanthropia, had played at the Hallowe’en Ball. Joh
Of course, I’d made quite an effort on that stage, too. I’d fought and killed a fairy in front of hundreds of witnesses, who’d applauded afterward thinking it part of the Hallowe’en show.
Killer fairies and rock’n’roll: that was only a small part of what we’d dealt with this evening.
“Do you honestly want to show me your apartment now?”
“My one bulb is burned out so there’s not much you’d actually see.” His lean-muscled arms slid around me. I felt so grounded and safe in his embrace. “But I promise, what you feel will make up for it.”
What Joh
Apparently, to him, if we weren’t actually seen together we had plausible deniability. Not that my live-in grandmother—Nana—would ever believe that we’d visited his apartment in the middle of the night just so he could give me the nickel tour.
Nana and my nine-year-old foster daughter, Beverley, were asleep in their bedrooms—each just a hall’s width from mine. The old saltbox farmhouse had paper-thin walls. Even the layers between the second-floor ceiling and attic floor lacked the ability to dampen noise. I’d heard Joh
Still, there were things he didn’t know. “The lucusi is coming here at dawn, Joh
He pulled me closer. He’d gotten a shower after the show, washing off the smell of sweaty leather stage clothes and leaving only the cedar and sage that was his unique scent. “Had to try.”
His breath on my neck was warm, his voice just rough enough to catch in my ear and send a tingle down to my toes. Parts of me were suddenly insisting they didn’t qualify as weary. It made me reconsider the definition of tired. “It’s just so far to drive. All the way to town, only to turn around and come back here by dawn.”
But people in the throes of new love did crazy things like that.
Did I just think the L-word?
“You could fly.”
He was right, I could. Due to my performance a few days earlier in the Eximium, a high-priestess competition, I’d been inducted into the powerful lucusiled by the Eldre
“You don’t want to fly?” He nuzzled my neck.
“It isn’t that.” Ru
“Do share.” Another nuzzle.
“There’s only one place in my house with any kind of privacy and soundproofing.” Tiptoeing, I kissed him lightly before saying, “Your ke
“Oh, that is sooo hot.” He ran his hands up and down my backside and couldn’t suppress his grin.
Carrying a lit jar candle and blankets, I led him outside and around the house to the cellar. Joh
While Joh
When I heard Joh
He stopped in his tracks.
I tugged on the lacings of the bell-sleeved velvet midriff bustier—part of my costume for the Ball—and smiled.
“Actually—” His voice was a little higher than he intended. He stopped to clear his throat and started over. “Actually, I can help with that.” He was by me in an instant, deftly working the knot. Seconds later, the fabric loosened and I took a satisfyingly deep breath. Then his skillful fingers touched the bare skin at my waist, thumbs drawing little circles. “Anything else I can help you out of?”
“I’m not technically out of this.”
“Oh,” he said softly. “My bad.” He began loosening the lace-up strings even more. “Up or down?”
“Definitely up.”
He was so gentle, moving so slowly, careful of my hair. He was just removing my shirt, but he made it sensual, as if he were rubbing lotion all over me. Ta