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Mircea smiled wickedly. “Is that a question, dulceata?” 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, dulceata, 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, dulceata, 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 shoulders and chest, to his stomach and the faint line of hair that I’d found so intriguing earlier. His body was superb, like a marble statue come to life, one of those slender masterpieces by an ancient Greek genius. His sex was perfectly proportioned to the rest of him, uncircumcised and pale, but flushed with a dark pink tinge. He was already half erect, but, when my gaze lingered, he lengthened, gaining weight and width almost magically. His legs were the best I’d ever seen on a man, and his feet were as finely shaped as his elegant hands. He was exquisite.
I heard him take a ragged breath. “How can you make me feel so with only a look? Touch me, dulceata, or allow me to touch you or I will go mad.”
Okay, maybe I’d been wrong. Mircea might be doing this at the Consul’s bidding, but he wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea. It made me feel a little better. “Answer the question,” I said, and my voice was steady, although it came out barely louder than a whisper.
He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, giving me a view of tight buttocks and taut shoulders. “You will have to repeat the question. My concentration is suffering.”
“If we do this, will I be Pythia?”
“That I do not know, nor does anyone. The power will pass soon, almost certainly either to you or to the lost sybil. All we are attempting is to keep you in the running, so to speak. If the Pythia dies and you are still a virgin, it may result in the power passing to your rival.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me. If what I’ve been experiencing is only part of her power, I don’t think I want the rest.”
“Not even to help your father?”
I blinked. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about that. It said something about the confused state of my head. “You promised to tell me about him, and that’s not part of this deal!”
Mircea looked at me from under a curtain of dark silk. “You have no pity, dulceata. Nor have you paid me for your last question.”
“Tell me about my father and maybe I will.”
Mircea rolled off the bed and began to pace, which didn’t help my pulse rate any. He stalked, like some big jungle cat, rather than merely walked. “Very well.” He turned to me suddenly, his eyes flashing gold. “If you insist, then we will discuss this. I did not want to tell you, but you have forced my hand. Roger is dead, as you were told. Dead, but not gone.”
“You mean he’s a ghost?” I shook my head. “Not possible. I’d have known. He’d have come to me—I was right there in Tony’s house for years. It’s not like I’d have been hard to find.”
Mircea stopped near the bed, a little too close for comfort, and continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “Roger was an employee of Antonio’s, one of his favorite humans, in fact. Which made his betrayal all the more bitter. That was how Antonio viewed his refusal to give you up when ordered to do so. He could not leave Roger alive and save face, but he did not want his death to deprive him of your father’s gift. You received your connection to the spirit world from him—he, too, was reportedly able to make ghosts his servants.”
“That isn’t what I do.”
He brushed it aside. “Call it what you will. Suffice it to say that Antonio found it useful from time to time. You were clever to hide it from him, dulceata. I asked him if you had that gift as well as the Sight, and he said no.”
“Eugenie told me not to tell.” Only now did I understand why. Of course, ghosts could be useful, especially in dealing with other families. Since vamps can’t detect them, they’d make perfect spies. Hell, he could even have sent them to let him know what the Senate was doing. A pretty big advantage, that. “What happened?”
