Goddess of the Rose (Goddess Summoning #4)(21)

The scent hit him hard in his gut - blood mixed with the anointing oil of a High Priestess. She was not the betrayer, but she had clearly been marked by the goddess. And he must obey the goddess's will. He began moving toward her again, this time using his newly freed powers to call the darkness to thicken about him so his body would remain cloaked with night. Still, her head jerked up and she stared wide-eyed in his direction.

"Do not fear," he murmured, attempting to gentle his powerful voice.

She gasped. "Who are you? What do you want?"

He could feel her terror, and for a moment he regretted what he must do. But only for a moment. He knew his duty. This time he would fulfill it. Before she could dart away from him, he used his inhuman speed to reach her where she still crouched on the leafy ground. She stared up at him, unable to see through his mantle of darkness.

She was so small . . . so very human . . .

With a gruff command, he ordered the darkness to cover both of them, and for a single breath he wrapped his great arms around her, engulfing her in a tide of vertigo. The cool breeze that earlier had been friendly and inviting suddenly beat against them in a frenzy of scent and sound. They were caught in a vortex of confusion. The ground seemed to open to swallow them. It trembled . . . shifted . . . rocked. The world around them faded and then disappeared altogether, and the shimmering air was rent by a tremendous roar.

Like a snake slithering into its hole, darkness and the beast retreated, carrying Mikado Empousai with it.

Chapter Eight

Part Two

Chapter Eight

SOFTNESS ... she was surrounded by softness. Curled on her side, her face rested against a pillow. Mikki rubbed her cheek against its sleek surface. Silk. It had to be silk. She snuggled more deeply into the thick comforter, breathing in the rich scent of expensive, down-filled bedding.

While she lay there, someone combed through her hair with a wide, soft-bristled brush. Mikki sighed happily and rolled over on her stomach so the someone could have better access to more of her hair. Dreaming . . . she had to be dreaming.

And, she told her sleeping self, her dreams had certainly been wonderful lately. She should just relax and enjoy.

The person hummed a wordless tune while she brushed Mikki's hair. Her voice was a gentle waterfall of notes that blended with the soft strokes of the brush lulling Mikki into an almost hypnotically relaxed state.

Mikki sighed with perfect contentedness.

Somewhere in the lullaby-like humming, the whispered words Welcome, Priestess echoed in her sleep-heavy mind.

Mikki breathed another dreamy sigh; she was definitely going to have to do more sleeping.

Another pair of hands touched her. These new hands focused on rubbing her feet. With the confidence of a master masseuse, the hands drew firm, soothing circles across her insteps.

Mikki felt like she was liquefying. Well, she certainly deserved an excellent dream, especially after the night she'd had. Her mind traveled languidly back. The crappy blind date . . . humiliating herself by screwing up the lines of that play . . . then being stalked by some terrible imaginary beast through the rose gardens . . . cutting her fingers on the broken perfume bottle . . . the deafening roar and the horrible sense of suffocation . . .

Memory tried to break through the dam of contentment her dream had built. She had to be dreaming, but how had she gotten home? Just what exactly happened before the weird dizzy spell that had overwhelmed her in Woodward Park? A sliver of unease skittered spiderlike through her body. She needed to wake up.

Mikki opened her eyes.

A flutter of activity sounded behind her. Mikki spun around. Two women stood next to her bed.

No - it wasn't her bed.

Mikki snapped her eyes shut.

No. No. No. This wasn't right. It was the bed from her dreams. The huge canopy bed in the enormous bedroom, to be precise. Mikki pressed the palms of her hands against her closed eyes. Then she rubbed her face vigorously. She could feel her body, too damn well. The feeling was distinct, not like the sweet, erotic fog that filled her dreams. With her eyes still closed, she slapped her own cheek. Hard.

"Ow, shit." Mikki flinched. It definitely hurt. She was certain she was awake now.

She opened her eyes.

Sticky tendrils of fear laced their way through her stomach. Nothing had changed. The bed was still there, as was the bedroom and the two women. They were wearing long shimmering robes that wrapped toga-like around their bodies and brushed the lushly carpeted floor. They were young and beautiful, especially silhouetted against the wall of mullioned windows behind them.

"Shit on a shingle!" Mikki automatically used her favorite curse as her breath left her body and her heart slammed against her chest. "Who the hell are you?" she squeaked. Fear clenched her. Had she been attacked in the park and killed? "Am I dead? Are you ghosts?" she blurted.

The women's eyes widened, and the brunette held out a delicate hand in a gesture that was probably meant to have been reassuring, but the fact that she was there at all, and that she could respond to Mikki's question, was definitely not comforting. Mikki immediately shot backward, crablike, over the bed until she was pressed firmly against the headboard.

"My Lady! We are of the living. You have nothing to fear." Her voice was soft and melodic, and Mikki recognized it instantly as the one that had recently been humming the lullaby to her. "We are here to welcome and to serve you, Priestess."

The other woman, the one with the lion's mane of wheat-colored hair, nodded in agreement. "Yes, Priestess. We are all very much alive."