arms dropped away from her. “He was willing.”
“I doubt that.” Phoebe regarded him expectantly, but Jacob only blinked at her through Rafe’s eyes. “Well? Are you going to release him?”
He folded his arms. “No.”
Phoebe sighed. Better to keep watch on him here than to leave Jacob on the loose with Rafe’s body, doing who knew what. “Then at least come inside.”
Whether of his own volition or at Jacob’s direction, Rafe stepped into the house—barefoot, she noted—and let Phoebe close the door. “Where’s Lila?” He touched Phoebe’s face, drawing his hand sensuously along her jaw. “She was here. Recently. You smell like her.”
“I smell like her?” He meant Lila as she’d been in life, obviously, but Phoebe grimaced at the idea of smelling like the dead.
“You have the look of her, as well. Maybe I can draw her in.”
Phoebe took a step back. “Or not. Why don’t we just talk? You could tell me what you know about the necromancer who’s been manipulating you. Rafe said you wanted his help to stop it.”
Rafe’s eyes regarded her. “Tezcatlipoca is very powerful, and he’ll become more powerful still because of Rafael Diamante.”
“Because of Rafe? Why? What does Rafe have to do with it?”
“He’s a conduit.” Jacob strolled farther into the house, touching the surfaces of things—the walls, Phoebe’s knickknacks—running his fingers over them as if it were a luxury to be able to feel things through Rafe’s skin. Which it probably was. Phoebe tried not to think about what else those fingers had touched at Jacob’s direction.
“A conduit for what? Not for shades? Is he a...an evocator? Like I am?” It seemed unlikely Rafe could have gone this long without being aware of such an innate skill.
Jacob’s eyes narrowed, studying Phoebe with renewed interest. “No. Not an evocator. A conduit for energy. He bears the mark of the ancients.” Jacob began to unbutton Rafe’s crisp white shirt with slow, sensuous movements.
“Jacob. What are you doing?”
He turned and continued down the hall. The shirt fell from his shoulders and slipped down his arms to the floor, revealing the magnificent tattoo of Quetzalcoatl, wings flexing as Rafe’s arms swung easily with his gait.
Phoebe couldn’t take her eyes off the ink. “Where are you going?” She raised her voice as he disappeared into her bedroom. Great. That was all she needed. Half-naked Rafe Diamante in her room, possessed by the shade of a smooth-voiced Lothario. “Jacob.” No answer.
She followed him against her better judgment. If she could keep him talking, she might be able to discover the identity of the necromancer. In the dusky half-light of her room, Rafe—or Jacob, rather—reclined on her bed with his hands clasped behind his head. The position displayed his pecs to maximum advantage. Man, this guy was like a catnip mouse to her inner Puddleglum.
Phoebe leaned against the door frame. “If the necromancer is so powerful, why does he need Rafe’s energy?”
“How do you think the powerful become what they are? By taking the power of others.” Jacob ran Rafe’s tongue over his bottom lip and Phoebe felt her own lips clamping shut on a frustrated mewl. “Come here and I’ll tell you more.”
“I’m not going to give you Lila. I can’t, even if I wanted to. She’s not here. I don’t sense her anywhere nearby.”
“I know you want this man.”
Good grief. If Rafe was hearing this... Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe he’d have another memory lapse with Jacob taking such complete control.
“Phoebe Carlisle.” Rafe’s voice sounded so ordinary as he spoke her name she thought Jacob had left him suddenly.
Phoebe opened her eyes and took a step toward the bed. “Rafe?”
“He desires you, as well.”
“Dammit, Jacob. That’s enough.”
Jacob lifted Rafe’s shoulders in a shrug. “I’m only telling you what this body is telling me.” His eyes flicked downward and back at Phoebe, just enough to draw her gaze to the obvious erection in Rafe’s jeans.
Phoebe yanked her gaze away, heat radiating off her skin. “I thought you wanted to tell me about the necromancer. Does he have a name?”
“Tezcatlipoca.” Him again. “That’s the name he calls himself. It’s a stolen name. He imagines himself a god.”
“And the reason he wants Rafe’s power is because of Rafe’s affinity for the Aztec deities? His family’s ancestry?”
“His family’s legacy.” Jacob withdrew his arms from the headboard and leaned forward. “Come. I’ll show you.” She’d heard that one before. Jacob turned away, looking over Rafe’s shoulder. “Touch the serpent.”
Phoebe let out a sharp laugh. She’d definitely heard that one before.
Jacob smiled. “I don’t mean anything by it. It’s the source of his power.”
Phoebe’s eyes threatened to fall right out of her head, they were rolling so hard at the double entendres. But Jacob merely waited, his hands propped to one side as if in a yoga pose. Quetzalcoatl’s feathery scales did seem rather luminous despite the low light in the room.
She closed the space between them, sitting on the edge of the bed so she could reach Rafe’s back, and placed her hand against the tattoo. It was oddly cool, though his flesh was warm. And Rafe smelled like the coming rain. His muscles rippled under her hand. Only it wasn’t muscle. It was the tattoo.
“What the hell?” Phoebe drew back, but Jacob caught her wrist and tugged her into his lap.
“The quetzal awakens, charmed by the evocator. And it will soon take flight.”
“Let go of me, Jacob.” She managed to rise onto her knees, straddling Rafe’s muscular thighs as she tried to climb off and tangling her skirt in the process, but the grip on her arm was like steel. He pulled her down closer. Between her thighs, she could feel Rafe’s heat against hers—nothing between Phoebe’s flesh and his jeans but the thinnest of microfiber. “I don’t think Lila would approve of this.” Her lungs seemed to be having trouble taking in a full breath of air.
“I can’t help what this body feels. What it desires.” He bucked lightly against her, and Phoebe knew he could feel how damp her panties were. The last time she and Rafe had been this close, she’d been in the grip of Lila’s control, unable to exert her own will. Now she had complete control over her own faculties. And she was moving in tandem with the gentle rise and fall of Rafe’s pelvis.
What was she doing? It was one thing to have entertained even for a second the thought of bargaining her body to Lila in exchange for the necromancer’s identity, or to have indulged in the fantasy of having Rafe at the mercy of Jacob’s desire for her. But she couldn’t participate in this—whatever this was—no matter how hard up she was.
Rafe’s
