Touch The Dark Page 0,113

for something.

"What else did Pritkin lie about?"

Mircea smiled wickedly. "Is that a question, dulceaţă?" I swallowed nervously as his hands began to massage my lower thighs. He noted my confused look with a small sigh. "I will not hurt you, Cassie. I swear you will feel nothing but pleasure from my touch."

"You'll answer the question—in full?"

"Do I not always keep my promises?" I nodded; that much was true. At least so far. He smiled broadly and sat back on his heels. "Very well, how did Pritkin lie?" He thought for a moment. "For the most part, dulceaţă, he did not lie; he simply evaded. He was being honest when he said that if the sybil has gone dark or been killed, the power will pass to someone else. But he was less so when he denied—most unconvincingly—that it will choose you once you become… available."

"Why does the Circle hate the thought of me gaining the power?"

Mircea's rich laugh spread through the room. "They hate you because they fear you. No one can command the Pythia. The Circle is bound to protect her, even to obey her in some things, and you are the first one to potentially hold the power in centuries whom they have not indoctrinated since birth. You would not be their puppet as so many Pythias have been. You would use the power as you saw fit, and that might mean in opposition to their wishes at times." He paused for a second to slide out of his boxers, tossing them aside unself-consciously. I watched them fall to the rug with my heart in my throat and refused to look at him.

"I was told what the dark mage said to you, Cassie. He told you the truth, but, again, only in part. The mythical Cassandra was the only seer who steadfastly refused to be under the control of anyone. She ran from even Apollo himself to avoid having another dictate how her gift should be used. The Circle is afraid that you will be true to your name."

"Are you saying I have a whole army of Pritkins after me?" I was horrified. I'd been surrounded by four master vampires, one of them the reigning dueling champion, and he'd still almost killed me.

"Not necessarily. If you are malleable enough to be used, they will try to do so. Pritkin was truthful when he said that the current Pythia is dying and will not be able to control the gift much longer. They have lost their sybil and urgently need to find her or locate another. But they are caught on the horns of a dilemma: they do not wish the power to pass to you, but who is to say where it would go if they eliminated you? Possibly to one of their other adepts, but equally possibly to another rogue whose existence they missed. If they recover their lost sybil or if you are difficult, they may take the chance and kill you; if not, they will undoubtedly attempt to rule you. Either way, dulceaţă, you are far better off with us."

I thought that was debatable, but if the rest of the Circle was like Pritkin, I definitely didn't want to meet them. "What are you saying? We make love and, bam, I'm the Pythia? Is that what all this has been about?"

Mircea laughed, a joyous, faintly wicked sound. "That is another question, and you have yet to pay for the last one."

I raised my eyes to his face and resolutely kept them there. "What do you want?"

He smiled, and this time it was gentle. "Many things, Cassandra, but I will settle for simply having you look at me for now."

"I am looking at you." I received silence as his only answer. I sighed. Normally I wasn't particularly shy. Raphael often had nude male models around and I'd seen nakedness used as part of punishment too many times to count. But this wasn't some stranger I didn't know; it was Mircea, who'd suddenly gone from being an untouchable fantasy to being an all-too-available reality. I wasn't too shy to look at him, as he probably thought. I was trying hard not to jump him, at least until I got some answers, and gazing at that gorgeous body when I couldn't touch it was damn close to torture.

I licked my lips and accepted the inevitable. My eyes traveled over the fine bones of his face and perfect curve of his lips, down to the hard planes of his