“We will continue your lessons this afternoon. This time, at the edge of climax, you will let her shift.” He used his husky bedding voice—the one that encouraged moisture between her legs, even when he hadn’t touched her.

“Might that be dangerous? Her fangs left you marked.”

“A mere scratch.” He kissed her lightly. “My darling, Mia, you have taken possession of me body and soul.”

Her pulse thrummed a strange, erratic rhythm as his soft kisses and sensuous bites angled back and forth across her lips. And she had neither solicited nor cajoled him into such affection. She badly wanted to ask, even as she repressed the thought.

But what of your heart, Exeter?

Chapter Thirteen

IN THE WAR ROOM, née “dining room,” of their hotel suite, Exeter studied the image maker intently. “What is a hologram, exactly?” he queried, as Tim set up yet another odd contraption.

“In this case, it is a moving photograph of an interference pattern that, when suitably illuminated, produces a three-dimensional image.” Tim’s shoulders bounced up and down. “This little portable player doesn’t really do the transmission justice, but you’ll get the picture.”

At first, there was nothing but a voice in the dark. “If there is a way to crack open Pandora’s egg, I will find it.” The voice was soft, gravelly—measured.

Phaeton Black sat behind bars and yanked absently on his bindings. “You are persistent, I’ll grant you that, but you cling to myths, Prospero.” The cell appeared to be shallow, enclosed by an old iron gate. Exeter squinted at a rather daunting lock mechanism. Absent a keyhole, but adorned with colorful lights, the device blinked in the dark. “Ping was quite clear,” Phaeton continued, “the Moonstone knows your intentions. You cannot trick the stone with your wily wizardly ways.”

A figure moved through shadows like a wraith in the dark. And a face, in profile, appeared inches away—nose to nose with Phaeton. “If that is the case, why hide it from me?”

A grin that was pure Phaeton Black lifted Exeter’s spirits. “Might I suggest more sex torture? Might loosen my lips a bit—and mind I get a bit of anal play this time—before you bugger me. Or perhaps you might suck my cock?” Phaeton boldly stared the wizard down. It was as if they were two sides of the same coin—the cruel emperor on one, the court jester on the other.

“Continue to prevaricate, Phaeton, and I shall be obliged to use additional force. If I cannot have the stone, you will be kept . . . subdued.” Exeter concentrated on the man called by many names—scientist, sorcerer, the tinker, the master—the lathe and plaster in Skeezick speak. The Nightshades had settled on the name Prospero for this enigmatic foe, and the isolated character from The Tempest appeared to suit. The enemy even answered to his name.

These captured images, along with snippets of conversation, had been sent to Black Box in London. According to Tim, his brother Oakley had personally extracted the transmission. Exeter could not shake the thought that Prospero continued to spin his web and he was drawing them in. Surprisingly cat and mouse, for such a high-stakes game.

Phaeton appeared irritated, and somewhat bored, but otherwise hearty enough. From what he could surmise, they were watching part of an interrogation. “Phaeton must have attempted an escape and been recaptured,” Exeter mused aloud.

Valentine nodded. “He’s got fresh marks on him—some bruising and a cut over his eye.” He and Mia sat at the table, along with the other Nightshades, analyzing the strange, disturbing imagery. Phaeton was strung up—nearly naked as far as he could tell.

“There—another look at Prospero.” Taken aback, Exeter caught his breath. Younger than he imagined.

Even Mia gasped. “Rather attractive. Strong, symmetrical features—except for the eyes, which are most unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

Mia’s admiration of another man’s looks sparked a touch of—well, it rankled—yet Exeter had to agree. The eyes appeared to be both light and dark at once. Not unlike Ping’s eyes—only a good deal more menacing. “Can we see that again?”

Tim nodded and pushed several switches.

The hair on the tech wizard’s head was shorn extremely short; no more than a stubble of growth formed a widow’s peak in the middle of an otherwise intelligent brow. Exeter did not believe Prospero could be much older than himself.

Black eyes flashed with silver. “What am I going to do with you, Phaeton, short of killing you?” The image crackled with static and flickered out altogether.

“That’s all there is.” Tim said.

Exeter scanned the uncomfortably quiet room, stopping on Noggy. “Once more from the beginning?”

America stood up to leave. Exeter caught her hand. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Do whatever you need to do to bring him back, Exeter.” Tears welled in her eyes, and spilled over. She appeared to wobble a bit on unsteady legs. Exeter shot up from his chair and caught her as she collapsed in his arms. She cried the first tears he had seen from her since the day Phaeton was lost to them.

As her pregnancy advanced these past few months, she had been wonderfully courageous. They had given her work to do, and she had proven herself an excellent nurse to Gaspar, whose unraveling body had kept them all busy trying to find ways to arrest and repair the damage.

They had left Cutter and Ruby behind with Gaspar, and the urgency of getting to Phaeton could not be more compelling. They must return to London with the Moonstone—they were dangerously close to running out of time to help the Nightshades leader, while courting cataclysmic disaster for the Outremer. And if they failed—it seemed likely that both worlds would cease to exist.

Indeed, they needed Phaeton and the Moonstone to restore both the future and the past. Like it or not, they were inextricably linked—one could not exist without the other.

Exeter rocked America in his arms. How dearly she loved Phaeton and how terribly she must miss him. They had all spent these past months wondering if they would ever find the extraordinary, incorrigible Mr. Black. Given the odds, the prospects were beyond dismal. Ping and Noggy had worked quite tirelessly on locater gadgets and by trick or accident of fate, the flies on the wall had brought them to Paris.

Parts of the transmission had been rather graphic—too graphic for the ladies, yet America had insisted on watching. But he could not, for the life of him, think of a reason to subject America or Mia to a second viewing. He caught the eye of Mia, who put her arm around America. “I ordered baths the moment we arrived. Shall we find a nice hot soak somewhere?” As if in answer to Mia’s suggestion, a knock on the door produced a number of attendants carrying copper tubs and buckets of steaming hot water.

Exeter rolled the doors to the dining room closed and signaled for a replay.

Tim hesitated. “That wasn’t the end of the recording.”

He pulled up a chair. “Some lurid scenario, no doubt.”

Tim nodded his head slowly. His eyes darted over to Valentine, who defiantly arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

“This is shocking as well as vividly salacious,” Tim warned, as he pressed the play button.

Exeter leaned forward. He sensed something purposely voyeuristic about the way the scene had been captured. Due to the poor image quality, Prospero could be heard, but he was always in shadow.

The unseen wizard paced around the small cell—lingering behind Phaeton, presumably ready to sodomize him. “You can take my cock in your mouth anytime.” Phaeton was purposely baiting the man to perform fellatio, while a shapely female figure dressed in black leather entered the cavern.

Exeter grinned. “Phaeton appears to be holding up brilliantly—devoted hedonist that he is.”

The image broke apart and resolved into a picture of an ebony-haired woman—attractive in a jarring, severe sort of way. She was scantily clad in leather, with a great number of tattoos scrawled over her body. Leather holes cut in the front of a bustier displayed pointy nipples and bulbous breasts.

Exeter didn’t quite know what to make of it. “Good God—are those real?”

“Surgical implants.” Tim offered. “They make an incision and stuff plastic bags filled with saline in there.”

He continued to stare, though he was not sure why. Horror? Fascination? Lust?

The female stepped into the light snapping a riding crop against tall boots. Up until now, all they had seen were breasts. “Domina Valor.” Tim uttered the name in a hushed tone.

“Who is she?” Jersey leaned forward.

Tim paused the image. “She’s a porn star in the Outremer. Victor recognized her immediately; he owns a big collection.”

Exeter stared. “A collection of pornography?”

Tim nodded. “She once did fifty guys in a hour in Domina does Dallas.”

Jersey snorted. “Does she flagellate them or fuck them?”

“Both . . . I think.” Tim’s eyes darted about. “Okay . . . I . . . didn’t actually see her do it—I just heard about it.”

“Well, I know I’ve seen enough.” A wary, slightly amused Valentine rose from her chair. “You boys enjoy yourself. I’m off in hopes of finding another hot bath.”

“Ready?” Tim punched the button again.

Phaeton was speaking. “. . . No? Then how about a spanking—or a few love bites, right there on the tip?” Exeter could not help but think Phaeton’s openly lurid taunts made him vulnerable to harsher treatment—still, there was often method to his madness. Methods that could only be guessed at, if one reached into the darker corners of one’s sexual fantasies.