The Taking (Seven Deadly Sins #3)(54)
Author: Erin McCarthy

What he wanted was simply to create a ceremony so seductive, so thrilling, that she would be appeased, that she would continue to pass her many coins over to him in vast quantities, that tonight she would finally allow him entrance into her body. He had plucked pieces of various ceremonies, with different meanings, and fused them together in random order to please Camille, but so they would have no consequences.

As she danced, candlelight flowing over her firm, dewy body, Felix began to chant in French.

Take me, keep me from death,

For if you kill me, it’s a crime,

Since it is the Great King of Ife,

Where mortals never go,

Who gives us the light of life.

He enjoyed the power of the serpent, enjoyed holding its heavy, dry body in his hands, high above his head. It brought to mind the intriguing and vibrant voodoo ceremonies of his youth, those his mother took him to under strict instructions never to speak of them in front of his father. The secrecy added to the mystery of the elaborate rituals, filled with a language he didn’t understand and pleas to gods he didn’t recognize, and when the men had brought out the snakes and made them dance, rising like water with the spirit of the deceased initiates, his heart had pounded with the thrill of it.

Just like Camille’s heart raced now, her hands high, hair flying around her as she danced to the elemental rhythm of the beat of his foot on the wood floor.“We call on the Saints to guide you, to answer our plea, in the name of all that is Holy.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that one of the housemaids had opened the door a few inches and was watching hunched over, with wide eyes. It gave him a certain satisfaction, a feeling of defiant power, to have strolled in through the front door of the mansion tonight, coolly staring down all the servants, who had eyed him with total disapproval. As far as he was concerned, he had more right to enter through thefrontthan they did. He had the lineage on his father’s side, the savvy survivalist skills of his mother’s side, the wealth from his own business, and the power of never having to face death.

He would be in this room if he so chose.

Whipping the head of the snake around, he undulated it toward the door. “Danbaala-Wedo!” he chanted to the maid. “Join us, join us.”

She gasped and slammed the door shut.

Felix laughed. Invoking fear was intoxicating in and of itself, and he was doing nothing, a nonsense compilation of voodoo, and the power pleased him.

“Camille, stop,” he ordered.

She did, her chest heaving, her arms still over her head, her damp hair sticking to her lip.

“Drink from the water of the living. Drink from the water of the dead.”

Her movements were unbalanced as she walked, and she lost her footing at the chest of drawers, stumbling before reaching out and regaining her equilibrium by gripping the furniture. She took a long swallow from each of the two jars he had placed between the candles. They were wine, not water, because he had wanted her relaxed, inebriated, so that tomorrow she would remember this in hazy terms, that she would remember the excitement and the “sign” of her family that he would manufacture. He wanted no crystal clarity of events, which might disillusion her.

Selfish, to be sure, but he wasn’t done with Camille.

“Now turn in a circle and repeat after me.”

For once Camille was serious, listening carefully to him, concentrating on making a slow, complete turn, repeating each sentence after he spoke.

“In the name of Bha. ”

“In the name of Dan.”

“In the name of Lah.”

Her voice was slurring, the dancing, the wine, the tight circles she was spinning sending her into a heady trance, and her hands moved down over her br**sts, down her belly, slipping through the blonde curls between her thighs.

The snake wrapped around his neck, Felix held the jaw at bay with one hand so it couldn’t strike, and reached out with his free hand and covered Camille’s. Together they stroked her, fingers gliding together into her hot dampness. She seemed to have forgotten what they were doing, what their purpose was. Driving the pace from languid to frantic, Camille bit her lip as her passion exploded.

He felt the power of her climax begin, and pulled his hand sharply back, to tease and heighten her desire. She made a sound of frustration but managed to please herself, her head lolling back as her shoulders relaxed.

Camille opened her eyes, shiny from wine, and laughed. “It’s time, isn’t it? I can feel it. I can feel them.”

“Yes, it’s time. Come to the window.” He wanted to see her in the moonlight, wanted the air to tease over her naked body, a breeze that he could point out was the spirit of her dead loved ones.

She did so without hesitation, heading right to the French doors and gripping either side of the door frame with outstretched arms, her eyes drifting closed as she breathed deeply. He stood directly behind her, a watchful eye on the dark street below. They were tucked into the shadows of the trees in the courtyard, and it was very late, but he was still mindful of unwanted attention. If Camille were seen, it would ruin both of them.

“Welcome them home,” he whispered in her ear.

Camille started humming a tune he didn’t recognize and moved forward, out onto the balcony. “Let me have the snake,” she demanded over her shoulder.

“No. It’s dangerous.”

“Give it to me,” she snapped, expression wild, fierce as she stood naked in the moonlight, her hair whipping arouad her face. “Please. I can handle it. I want the power. You said the magic comes from within me and you’re right. I feel it.”

“No, I can’t give it to you.” He had his limits and he had no intention of putting her at real risk.

She looked ready to protest, her brow furrowing.

“Turn around,” he told her. “Remember your focus.”

She did, taking another step forward. Then she stopped suddenly and turned back to him, eyes wide, a smile transforming her face. She no longer looked like the angry, desperate, contentious woman he had come to know, but a sweeter, milder, much more innocent version. It was Camille before death had robbed her of love and her sanity, and Felix paused, shocked, humbled.

He hadn’t realized precisely how much four short months had ravaged her countenance and the essence of her soul. How much of that transformation was he responsible for? He had taken advantage of the tragedy of her grief and encouraged her behavior.

Now to see her, looking so young, so light, so unburdened, he felt a hot wave of shame and regret wash over him. It was one thing to take advantage when it didn’t harm anyone, but to contribute to someone’s decline… he was selfish, but not cruel. “Camille, come inside,” he said gently.