You Slay Me
Page 78
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If I thought the crowd was silent before, it was posi-tively breathless now. At least it was for a second or two; then everyone erupted into comment, most of them out-raged yells of foul.
Drake stormed toward-me, his eyes an angry forest green. "What are you doing?" he asked softly when he got close enough to me. "Why are you doing this? Why do you make a mockery of me?"
I clutched the dartboard to my chest, more to keep from grabbing Drake than to protect it. "I'm not mocking you, Drake. This was the only thing I could think of."
"You issued me a challenge to meet me body to body. That is traditionally defined as combat. What you suggest is not combat—it is a game!"
I let my eyes caress him from his nose to his toes and back up again. "I'm not stupid, Drake. There's no way I want to try to fight you physically. I can't even arm-wrestle you, I've got girly arm muscles. I might be able to take you down with a few self-defense moves, but Jan, my instruc-tor, told me never to use them except in life-threatening sit-uations, and you can't kill me."
His hands made fists at his sides as he leaned into me, his breath feathering my face. "What you plan is ridicu-lous. I told you I was an expert at darts. You will lose."
"I know," I whispered back. "And I'd appreciate it if you could keep that fact in mind when your sept is dreaming up its punishment for me."
"Why are you doing this?" he asked again, his eyes losing a bit of their anger.
"It's part of my plan," I said, wanting desperately to kiss him. "Don't worry—it'll be over quickly. I have a horrible throwing arm. Is it kosher for the challenger to kiss the challengee?"
"No," he said, a startled look flickering across his face. "It is not done at all. What plan?"
"Just a plan I have. You'll find out about it as soon as this is over. Well, good luck. I mean,bonne chance." I held out my hand. He stared at it for a moment, then shook it carefully as if it were made of glass.
Everyone watched as I gave Rene the dartboard. He hung it on the wall, pulling out the cheap blue and yellow darts from the cloth bag. Istvan shot Drake a disbelieving look before reluctantly accepting the yellow darts.
"OK, so how do we do this? First one to hit center wins?"
Drake rolled his eyes, then grabbed me and hauled me up to his chest in the best arrogant, domineering wyvern manner. "You are impossible," he muttered just before his mouth descended upon mine, his tongue immediately invading, stroking the fires that burned so deep within me. Before I could do more than think about responding, he was gone. It took a moment for me to realize that the dull roar I heard wasn't just my blood pounding in my ears—everyone in the club was laughing and applaud-ing.
"We will play the 501 game," Drake announced, ig-noring the still howling crowd. He briefly explained the rules, showed me how to throw a dart, and even gave me a couple of practice shots before we started the match proper.
"Well, that didn't take long," Jim said when Drake beat me in record time. My score was still in the four hun-dreds when he made zero. "Almost anticlimactic, you could say. Too bad about Istvan. You think he's going to hold that wild shot against you?"
I looked over at where Istvan had a protective hand clapped over the edge of his groin. I'd missed the impor-tant parts, but just barely. He glared back at me. I grimaced. "I hope not. I also hope he doesn't get a say in the sept's punishment of me."
Pdl stepped forward and held up his hands for silence. The audience, which had been loudly and vehemently discussing the outcome of the challenge (several people shooting me vengeful looks that left me making a mental vow to be sure I had Rene with me at all times), lowered their voices enough so Pdl could speak. "By the laws of the Otherworld, Drake Vireo has met the challenge and proved the victor. The terms of the challenge call for the Guardian known as Aisling Grey to accept the punish-ment meted out by the green dragons." He turned to look at Drake. Istvan limped forward and grinned an evil, an-ticipatory grin.
I decided right then and there that if I ever truly did be-come Drake's mate, Istvan would be the first one to go.
Drake glided forward, interrupting his henchman's gloating look. "The punishment will be delayed until such time as the sept can meet to discuss the matter. The challenge has been satisfied."
He looked at me. I put my hand in my pocket and fin-gered the lodestone, turning to face the crowd. If my plan fizzled out, I'd have to do the one thing I was dreading— summoning Bael. "Drake is right, the challenge has been met and satisfied. He will not turn himself in to the police for the three recent murders that have stained the reputa-tion of the Otherworld. He has no reason to do so even should he have lost, since he is not guilty of those crimes."
"You are the one wanted by the authorities," a tall black man said in heavily accented English. "You are
the one who has caused much difficulty to those of us in the I'au-dela. Why should we not turn you over to the po-lice?"
I raised my eyebrows. "Because I'm innocent, as well."
"And I say you lie," a voice called from the back of the room.
I smiled as I released the lodestone, breathing a sigh of relief. I had counted on Ophelia's need to witness the challenge to bring her out into the open. The throng in front of me shimmered, then parted slowly, revealing the figure of a woman in black striding toward me, her blond head held high.
The gasps of horror were eerie, but it was the woman herself who set my skin to crawling.
It was Perdita.
"You're—you're dead," I said, my flesh tightening along my back and neck. "We saw you dead." I turned to Drake, confused beyond all confusion. "She was dead, right? We saw her? Together? All of us?"
Drake nodded, his eyes on Perdita. He had that bored look on his face again that I was coming to learn was a warning sign. "I suspect it was a setup."
"Well, that's the understatement of the year," I said as I looked at Perdita. "Why did you pretend to be dead?"
Perdita laughed and spun around with her arms up, showing everyone how healthy she was. "Me? It was I who was drugged and made to look as if I had been mur-dered, but I am quite well, as you all can see. Your little plan to pin the murders on my servant Ophelia have failed. Now everyone will hear the truth of how you killed the Venediger and Aurora Deauxville in your at-tempt to serve your master Bael. Everyone in the Other-world will know how you intend to rule them by wielding the Tools of Bael."
Drake stormed toward-me, his eyes an angry forest green. "What are you doing?" he asked softly when he got close enough to me. "Why are you doing this? Why do you make a mockery of me?"
I clutched the dartboard to my chest, more to keep from grabbing Drake than to protect it. "I'm not mocking you, Drake. This was the only thing I could think of."
"You issued me a challenge to meet me body to body. That is traditionally defined as combat. What you suggest is not combat—it is a game!"
I let my eyes caress him from his nose to his toes and back up again. "I'm not stupid, Drake. There's no way I want to try to fight you physically. I can't even arm-wrestle you, I've got girly arm muscles. I might be able to take you down with a few self-defense moves, but Jan, my instruc-tor, told me never to use them except in life-threatening sit-uations, and you can't kill me."
His hands made fists at his sides as he leaned into me, his breath feathering my face. "What you plan is ridicu-lous. I told you I was an expert at darts. You will lose."
"I know," I whispered back. "And I'd appreciate it if you could keep that fact in mind when your sept is dreaming up its punishment for me."
"Why are you doing this?" he asked again, his eyes losing a bit of their anger.
"It's part of my plan," I said, wanting desperately to kiss him. "Don't worry—it'll be over quickly. I have a horrible throwing arm. Is it kosher for the challenger to kiss the challengee?"
"No," he said, a startled look flickering across his face. "It is not done at all. What plan?"
"Just a plan I have. You'll find out about it as soon as this is over. Well, good luck. I mean,bonne chance." I held out my hand. He stared at it for a moment, then shook it carefully as if it were made of glass.
Everyone watched as I gave Rene the dartboard. He hung it on the wall, pulling out the cheap blue and yellow darts from the cloth bag. Istvan shot Drake a disbelieving look before reluctantly accepting the yellow darts.
"OK, so how do we do this? First one to hit center wins?"
Drake rolled his eyes, then grabbed me and hauled me up to his chest in the best arrogant, domineering wyvern manner. "You are impossible," he muttered just before his mouth descended upon mine, his tongue immediately invading, stroking the fires that burned so deep within me. Before I could do more than think about responding, he was gone. It took a moment for me to realize that the dull roar I heard wasn't just my blood pounding in my ears—everyone in the club was laughing and applaud-ing.
"We will play the 501 game," Drake announced, ig-noring the still howling crowd. He briefly explained the rules, showed me how to throw a dart, and even gave me a couple of practice shots before we started the match proper.
"Well, that didn't take long," Jim said when Drake beat me in record time. My score was still in the four hun-dreds when he made zero. "Almost anticlimactic, you could say. Too bad about Istvan. You think he's going to hold that wild shot against you?"
I looked over at where Istvan had a protective hand clapped over the edge of his groin. I'd missed the impor-tant parts, but just barely. He glared back at me. I grimaced. "I hope not. I also hope he doesn't get a say in the sept's punishment of me."
Pdl stepped forward and held up his hands for silence. The audience, which had been loudly and vehemently discussing the outcome of the challenge (several people shooting me vengeful looks that left me making a mental vow to be sure I had Rene with me at all times), lowered their voices enough so Pdl could speak. "By the laws of the Otherworld, Drake Vireo has met the challenge and proved the victor. The terms of the challenge call for the Guardian known as Aisling Grey to accept the punish-ment meted out by the green dragons." He turned to look at Drake. Istvan limped forward and grinned an evil, an-ticipatory grin.
I decided right then and there that if I ever truly did be-come Drake's mate, Istvan would be the first one to go.
Drake glided forward, interrupting his henchman's gloating look. "The punishment will be delayed until such time as the sept can meet to discuss the matter. The challenge has been satisfied."
He looked at me. I put my hand in my pocket and fin-gered the lodestone, turning to face the crowd. If my plan fizzled out, I'd have to do the one thing I was dreading— summoning Bael. "Drake is right, the challenge has been met and satisfied. He will not turn himself in to the police for the three recent murders that have stained the reputa-tion of the Otherworld. He has no reason to do so even should he have lost, since he is not guilty of those crimes."
"You are the one wanted by the authorities," a tall black man said in heavily accented English. "You are
the one who has caused much difficulty to those of us in the I'au-dela. Why should we not turn you over to the po-lice?"
I raised my eyebrows. "Because I'm innocent, as well."
"And I say you lie," a voice called from the back of the room.
I smiled as I released the lodestone, breathing a sigh of relief. I had counted on Ophelia's need to witness the challenge to bring her out into the open. The throng in front of me shimmered, then parted slowly, revealing the figure of a woman in black striding toward me, her blond head held high.
The gasps of horror were eerie, but it was the woman herself who set my skin to crawling.
It was Perdita.
"You're—you're dead," I said, my flesh tightening along my back and neck. "We saw you dead." I turned to Drake, confused beyond all confusion. "She was dead, right? We saw her? Together? All of us?"
Drake nodded, his eyes on Perdita. He had that bored look on his face again that I was coming to learn was a warning sign. "I suspect it was a setup."
"Well, that's the understatement of the year," I said as I looked at Perdita. "Why did you pretend to be dead?"
Perdita laughed and spun around with her arms up, showing everyone how healthy she was. "Me? It was I who was drugged and made to look as if I had been mur-dered, but I am quite well, as you all can see. Your little plan to pin the murders on my servant Ophelia have failed. Now everyone will hear the truth of how you killed the Venediger and Aurora Deauxville in your at-tempt to serve your master Bael. Everyone in the Other-world will know how you intend to rule them by wielding the Tools of Bael."
