Cezar cursed his abrupt response as her eyes narrowed and her expression hardened. After five centuries of dealing with females of every race and persuasion, he should have learned that the one way to make them dig in their heels was to give them a direct command.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
Cezar paused, considering his words with care. It was time for a little damage control. He would prefer not to be forced to hold her against her will.
There were lots of women who found being chained to a bed as sexy as hell, but unfortunately Anna wasn’t one of them.
“Anna, you must remain here,” he said, his voice soft. “At least you will be safe.”
She deliberately glanced toward the dead Sybil. “Not so safe.”
“Then I will take you…”
“No, Cezar.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to try and hide her shivers. “I can’t spend the rest of eternity in hiding, or constantly on the run.”
“It won’t be for an eternity.”
“You think Morgana le Fay is going to forget about me?” she demanded. “Or maybe she’ll suddenly have a Dr. Phil moment and decide it isn’t really nice to go around killing her family?”
Cezar curled his hands in frustration. He couldn’t reveal her destiny with the Oracles. Nor the fact that once she became a member of the Commission no demon, no matter how desperate, would dare risk the wrath of the Oracles in an attempt to harm her.
“Your powers will continue to grow every day,” he said, his hand reaching out to lightly stroke her hair. “Soon enough you will be able to protect yourself. Until then you need to remain with those who can keep you hidden from Morgana.”
She rolled her eyes at his perfect logic. “You mean I need to remain with you?”
He stepped closer to her enticing heat, his fingers finding the curve of her cheek.
“Would that be such a terrible thing?”
Her lashes fluttered as she struggled not to respond to his soothing touch. “My life is in California. I have an apartment, a job, people who are depending on me. I can’t just disappear.”
“You won’t have a life if you take on Morgana before you’re ready.” He took another step closer. Because of her powers he couldn’t compel her with his mind, but he had other weapons. His fingers drifted downward, his thumb stroking the fullness of her lower lip. “You’re not a fool, querida. Stay here and accept the help that we are willing to offer you.”
She stared into his eyes for a long, silent moment. Cezar smugly assumed that he had managed to bewitch her with his touch. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had been speechless beneath the power of his seduction.
Then, a shrewd glitter entered the hazel eyes and she reached up to grasp his teasing fingers in a firm grip.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Something else?”
“You aren’t trying to protect me out of the goodness of your heart. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
The plain, wooden house that was stuck in the middle of acres of farmland was as different from Avalon as it was possible to be.
The house was old and cramped, with furniture that had long ago grown shabby from use. There were a few cross-stitched pictures on the white walls and gingham curtains on the windows, but nothing could disguise the dampness that was slowly rotting the wood, or the infestation of mice that had taken over the attic. There was also an annoying scent of spearmint that permeated the air, as if the old lady that Morgana had buried in the back garden was addicted to chewing gum.
In fact, the only positive things about the dump were that it was well secluded and far enough from Chicago that Morgana could continue her search without being sensed by others.
Lying on the bed in the upstairs bedroom, Morgana attempted to ignore the heavy dust and damp mold that filled the air. For the moment she was far too weary to improve her surroundings. By the gods, she was too weary to even brush aside the heavy quilt that Modron had spread over her na**d body.
Her powers were elemental, not those of the fey, and conjuring a portal that was large enough not only for herself but the old hag as well had drained her completely. It would take days to recover her full strength.
Of course, even with only a portion of her powers, she was still capable of killing most things.
Sipping the warm tea with honey that helped to ease her lingering pain, Morgana watched as Modron shuffled into the room.
The seer’s tufts of hair were matted to her skull and she was wearing one of the shapeless dresses that had belonged to the old woman who had called the farmhouse her own—well, at least until Morgana had drained her pathetic life.