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“I’m sure. The effects aren’t as strong as they were at first.”
He was still watching her warily. She frowned, wondering why. Then it hit her. He’d taken a drug that was making him answer questions truthfully. A grin twitched her lips. That was a temptation almost too good to resist.
“Don’t go there,” he warned softly. “You may not like what you find.”
She scowled at him. He sat in the middle of the bed, a golden man dressed in black, with a past just as dark. He was as much of an enigma to her now as when he’d first appeared in her bedroom. That wasn’t likely to change unless she seized this moment and ran with it.
“Who do you work for, Jon?” she asked softly. She saw the struggle in his eyes, could see his irritation in the sudden tension knotting the muscles in his arms. She knew it wasn’t right, but what else could she do? Jon hadn’t exactly been forthright with any sort of information—this might be her only chance to learn something about him.
“The Damask Circle.” His answer was ground out between clenched teeth. He was fighting the drug in his system, fighting answering her questions.
I’m not being fair, she thought, but she had no intention of stopping now that she’d started. “And they are?”
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His gaze condemned her. “It’s an organization of psychics, witches, and paranormal creatures such as vampires and shapeshifters. We hunt down the bad things, the creatures that hide in shadows and kill.”
His voice was flat and cold. She stared into his eyes and saw the horror lying there. Vampires and shape-changers and God knows what else were an everyday part of this man’s life, and it scared the hell out of her. As did the knowledge that there was actually an organization out there to fight these things. And to think she’d spent the last six years hiding from the world because she’d thought her fire-starting abilities were a threat to everyone. What a joke that seemed now.
She rubbed her eyes wearily, then looked up again. Deep down in the blue depths of his eyes, past the shadows and the death, she saw the hint of despair and wondered at its reason. “Things like the people who took Evan?”
“Yes.”
“And Eleanor is one of those things?”
“Yes.”
Sweat beaded his forehead. How much of the truth drug had he ingested? How much time did she have before he came out from under its influence? What would he do or say to her when he did? “What is Eleanor?”
“A shapeshifter, and old magic. Evil incarnate.”
And she had Evan, for God only knows what purpose. “Old magic? What do you mean by that?”
His fist slammed down on the bed. “Damn it, Maddie, just stop. You’re putting yourself in greater danger by asking all this.”
She crossed her arms and ignored his warning. “Just answer the question.”
He made a sound that was almost a growl. “It means she can control magic. The older the magic, the older, more powerful the person.”
“And Eleanor is both?”
“Yes.”
A chill ran down her back. She clenched her fingers to stop their sudden shaking. Eleanor didn’t look any older than she was, so how could she hold the sort of power he appeared to be talking about? “She doesn’t look to be either.”
“No, she doesn’t. And that makes her all the more dangerous, in my estimation.” And damn you for continuing this, his eyes seemed to add.
She licked dry lips. “But what would someone like that want with the blood of teenagers?”
Several seconds ticked by before he answered. “Blood rituals create powerful magic. It has many uses.”
Blood rituals. It was all too hard to believe … and yet, staring into his eyes, she saw only the bleakness of the truth. He couldn’t lie to her, as much as he wanted to protect her from this information. She shivered and half wished she hadn’t begun this line of questioning. He was right. There were some things she was better off not knowing. Still, she felt compelled to continue.
She rubbed her arms lightly. “What sort of uses?”
“It can be used to raise the dead, to extend life, and to enhance the power of certain spells.” His replies were becoming more abrupt, the time between her questions and his answers longer. Maybe the truth drug was starting to wear off.
She pulled her gaze away from his and studied the end of the bed. The tension level in the room seemed to leap several notches in the ensuing silence. She took a deep breath, then asked the one question that really mattered. “Why couldn’t you seduce Eleanor?”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence seemed to stretch, jarring against her nerves. A whisper of sound made her look up quickly—and far too late to back away.
