No Witch Way Out (Maeren Series Book 2)

by Mercedes Jade

  They should have been stabbing each other in the chest with pointy weapons, not her.

  “He’s not helping me,” George said.

  He had used the older brother tone that said he didn’t need help because he had already done everything first and better.

  Elizabeth knew that tone, although she tried not to use it too often. Once your younger sibling was bigger than you, it didn’t always apply.

  “You never could have taken us all on your own. Tried that once and it failed. So, tell me, how did you blackmail Victor into helping you?” Elizabeth asked, giving George as much of her bony elbows as possible as she shifted around.

  He was an earth prince, even if his skin was hot as fire under hers. He could take it.

  “Victor wished to retrieve Victoria and he said Jill owed him a feed,” George said, explaining the division of labour as if he and his brother were sharing chores.

  Fetching Elizabeth was the equivalent of doing the chore that nobody volunteered for on purpose. Victor took on his sister, her sister, and their mother versus George handling just Elizabeth. George must have lost rock-paper-scissors.

  Elizabeth tried to flutter her lashes. “I think this was all a big misunderstanding. If you will lead me to the nearest portal that goes back to the human realm, I’m sure we can sort this out.”

  She managed to make the request without sounding the least bit panicked.

  Victoria was all alone with a half-slayed dragon that had already had a taste of her blood.

  How could George leave his sister like that?

  Jill was probably having a panic attack after her connection with Elizabeth got cut off by her mid-air dragon crash.

  And her mother. Gods, her mother was never going to forgive herself if her daughters were hurt when she wasn’t watching them.

  George looked like he was going to refuse, so his words surprised her. “I used a glyph to help direct us close to a cave with supplies. Let’s go,” he said.

  So that was how he got them both to reform their bodies at the same spot. Neat trick, especially if it could control where she ended up in Maeren. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to show her the glyph, but she bit the request back.

  She had a bigger problem to deal with first, if George thought she was going to casually walk beside him naked to his secret cave.

  The human sensibilities she’d learned couldn’t be shed so quickly.

  Her screech of embarrassment was ignored as George started to rise.

  She clung to him with monkey arms and legs, her naked limbs wrapped around his shoulders and hips, without an inch of space between them.

  It greatly impeded his attempt to get up. He wriggled his shoulders and tried to wedge a hand between their waists, but she was stuck on him as if they’d been welded together.

  The heat between their bodies certainly was hot enough to melt.

  “Little one, usually you’re supposed to scream and then run from the monster, not hug him to death.”

  She wasn’t going to disabuse him of the notion that he was a monster, but she had to set something straight.

  “I’m not hugging you.”

  He tried to pry her arms off him, but she’d linked her hands behind his neck. He sat up anyway, and she tried to link her ankles the same way.

  Although he was fit, his muscular form was immense, making it difficult to join her legs as tightly around his waist.

  She wiggled her hips, trying to find a way to close the last few inches between her ankles, and then, she noticed his response.

  “It’s not hugging!” she said more urgently.

  Stupid, vampire hormones.

  His body was probably being driven hard to feed after they’d both stabbed their magic away.

  Witches always had unbound magic-binding protein to spare in their blood.

  If George didn’t feed, then he was going to be limited to only using a small amount of his magic, whatever he could absorb from the atmosphere as he replenished his lost supply.

  He would be unable to store sufficient magic in his body without enough binding-protein. Else, he’d risk a nasty sunburn out here from too much unbound magic.

  A desert had not been a smart landing spot on his behalf.

  “We can’t stay out here all day,” George said rather huffily to her, probably already feeling the heat and drain on his abilities.

  He stood up, his hands cupping her bare bottom to try and lift her off of the evidence of his reaction. His hot hands weren’t doing anything sexual, but the nakedness made everything sexier.

  “I’m not walking,” she warned him.

  George sighed in frustration as she wiggled and tried to get comfortable, while still holding onto him tightly for fear of being dropped on her ass.

  “What do you expect if you squash your breasts against me and hump my—”

  “It’s not humping!” she muttered, cutting him off.

  She was mumbling into his shoulder because she refused to meet his eyes. She didn’t need a mirror to know her face was beet red.

  He could attempt to walk to where he wanted to go with her clinging, like a crab shell, awkwardly to his front, while his arms and legs stuck out to move them. It would take an awfully long time to get anywhere.

  “Let me piggyback,” she told him as a compromise.

  It was meant to be an order, but she would prefer his agreement and cooperation.She would have to loosen her hold to get around him and trust that he wouldn’t tear her off of him, when he got the chance.

  The sun and the heat between their bodies made their skin slick with sweat, weakening her grasp.

  “What is piggyback?” he asked, sounding confused.

  She needed to pick up a human to Maerenian dictionary.

  “Carry me on your back,” she explained. “And no peeking,” she added.

  He choked back a laugh. “I don’t see how having your breasts against my back will be any less enticing.”

  It was less distracting than having his dick riding up her ass, but she kept that thought to herself. He hadn’t said no.

  “I’ll be lighter on your back,” she tempted.

  At least, he didn’t mock her little body this time. The nickname he had given her was bad enough.

  His big body wasn’t a fair comparison. Slabs of muscle covered him like armour, heavy shoulders from swinging a broadsword, melon-sized biceps, and the thick ropes delineating his scarred ribs, leading to the chunk of pure beefcake that was his chest.

  She was covering the rest of him, at the moment, but she could feel that the remainder of his body was built as big and hard, everywhere.

  “Perhaps you will be more comfortable with a piggyback,” George conceded.

  He transferred her weight to one large hand under her naked bottom to hold her up, and then, used his free hand to try to pull her chin off his shoulder, shrugging his arm forward.

  She lifted her head, willing to meet his gaze in return for his concession. Her face had cooled a bit.

  His blue eyes were startling in an otherwise Asian face. Wide and heavily lashed for him to shutter his secrets at will, he nonetheless met her gaze, staring at her openly.

  She was caught in his look as he studied her in turn.

  “I’m going to steal you,” George said.

  She stopped breathing for a long moment, her eyes widening in shock.

  Had he said what she’d thought she’d heard? It had sounded like a possessive promise.

  His fingers tugged her chin even closer and their lips met. His mouth was soft and warm. The kiss had been so unexpected that her mouth had been slightly open, but he kept the exchange close-mouthed, brushing her lips with his own in butterfly, light caresses.

  It was over in seconds and he drew back before she could protest, barely seeing the little smile of satisfaction on his lips before he used the hand holding her up to lift her higher and closer to his far shoulder, for her to clamber over for her piggyback.

  Eli
zabeth awkwardly made her way around George’s body until she was clinging to his back, more like a turtle now. She wished she could hide her head in her shell, too.

  What the hell had that kiss meant?

  Hot Little Liar

  Elizabeth’s lips tingled.

  Swapping saliva didn’t usually result in enough magic transfer to do anything, but she felt like George had left her with a taste of his magic on her lips.

  He started walking, carrying her on his back, and completely ignoring their moment of passion.

  Somehow, her new position made her legs feel more exposed. She had to hold onto George’s body since he wasn’t supporting her with his hands any longer, and that required squeezing him with her thighs.

  Although, he hadn’t been the one to suggest the position, she still blamed him.

  Ultimately, it was him that led to them being in this situation.

  “Do not kiss me,” she muttered like she had told him not to pat her.

  She didn’t even bother to comment on him stealing her.

  This time, he didn’t as easily acquiescence to her demand.

  “How do you expect me to prime you if I can’t touch or kiss you?” George asked.

  It reminded her achingly of Daemon, their first night, and their rules of conduct, or the no-no list, as she fondly remembered it.

  “No feeding,” Elizabeth said, trying to push aside her memories of Daemon.

  George wanted to feed off of her after they staked each other in the chest?

  Had the fight earlier been foreplay?

  “You are the one responsible for my loss of magic. I expect you to pay up,” he told her.

  She could have admitted that all their naked interaction was having a typical and expected effect on her body, despite her refusal to feed him.

  Witches couldn’t fight their body’s natural response, as difficult and embarrassing as it may be when thought of in human terms, because the magic demanded witches be able to feed their blood to males.

  Multiple partners were the norm and a simple brush of the shoulders might be all it took to start priming a witch.

  George may be scarred, but it added to the allure of his impressive warrior body, all muscles and the marks to prove he could meet any challenge and come back up fighting.

  He didn’t need to hear any of it. George was the type of male that was used to getting his way. He took without asking.

  She already knew he had plotted to get her and he had almost snagged her sister, once before, too.

  She had to turn him down hard or he would never give up.

  “We are not compatible,” she reminded him, as if he was a mongrel to her blue blood.

  Although he was royalty, his sneaky ways were all too common. The lightning he once showed her was in the back of her mind, but denial had worked well for her in the past.

  “I’m a weak air witch if you recall? Did you mix me up with my sister? You really ought to remember a witch that kicked your balls into your throat the first time you met her, but perhaps you’re more rock-headed than I realized,” she insulted him, digging at his common earth origins.

  She didn’t think any less of him for his magic, but fire was the preferred royal strength. It was better to attack at his potential weakness.

  “My taste tells me otherwise,” he responded, not at all discouraged.

  She traced one of the scars on his shoulder, absentmindedly. She didn’t remember it that way—the first time.

  “You told me to seek another harem,” she said, throwing his words back at him.

  He had tasted her after fixing her broken leg, which had been the result of running from him in a pitch-black room that he had pulled her into to hide, after she secretly witnessed a murder in the castle.

  He may have been trying to keep her safe, but Elizabeth didn’t let overbearing vampires get away with manhandling her.

  An ill-placed table at knee height had been her undoing, in what had otherwise been a fabulous escape.

  “Not my first taste, but the taste of your lips, a moment ago . . .” George replied, trailing off.

  His fingers drew little ovals against her right ankle, then tap-tapped, while he waited for her to connect the dots.

  She traced her tongue along her lips and felt a little dried blood.

  He must have pierced her skin painlessly at the end of his kiss, using saliva to cleverly coat on his fangs, anesthetizing the tiny nick.

  The bastard had gotten away with a free taste while he stole a kiss.

  What a bold thief.

  “I’m not a fire witch,” she said, obviously piqued at his impropriety.

  She ought to bite him back, but she didn’t want him to drop her naked on the ground. It was awfully tempting, still. Maybe, when they were close to their destination.

  “When we first met, I knew you were special. Your blood did something very rare, unlocking a dormant power in me,” George admitted.

  He didn’t sound lascivious or deceitful.

  George genuinely wanted to feed on her and thought their power was a match, which could only mean one thing.

  The thing she had been trying to deny since the dragon caves, when she’d hoped she’d misheard him.

  “The lightning you’ve been using wasn’t from your first taste?” Elizabeth asked.

  She had joined minds with him, while he had been using lightning to heal his shoulder, and at the time, she presumed it was magic he had stolen from her blood.

  She should have known better, with such a little taste.

  “Of course not,” George said, sounding a little insulted. “A few drops of witch blood can only hold so much magic.”

  He wasn’t completely right or wrong. She had a lot more magic in her blood than most witches, but he had used more lightning than he should have been able to from his quick taste.

  He grabbed her knees at his waist and hefted her up a bit more on his back. The ground was becoming rocky and he was beginning to climb.

  “How much further?” she asked, testing her lightning with him.

  “I would rather not waste my magic on telepathy when we are alone. Especially, as I need to feed to replace the magic and blood wasted transporting here, and the only suitable witch is more modest than I realized.”

  George kept climbing in earnest, easily talking to her, despite the exertion made harder with carrying her weight.

  She wasn’t going to outrun him in an honest race.

  Good thing, she was willing to cheat.

  “You wasted my magic as well, but this deep in Maeren, the air is thick with power. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much magic. Where are we?” she asked.

  She was actually surprised she was able to use telepathy, so quickly after having her magic completely drained.

  The magic here felt heavy enough to swim in it. She would be back to fighting form in hours instead of days.

  “These are my personal lands,” George informed her.

  The area they were in now was more like a desert foothill, with mountains in the distance. The land was beautiful but remote and unoccupied. Her telepathy couldn’t locate another soul.

  She felt a shiver of unease. Finding her way home would be difficult.

  “I didn’t know your clan had lands in the Wastes,” she said, guessing their location.

  Maeren was fairly large but the only places so unoccupied were Dragos—aptly named—and the Wastes.

  The vast mountains and deserts of the Wastes were perilous to travel as only rogues and murderous thieves hid here.

  “This is my personal land, not clan lands. The king gifted it to me when I was sixteen.”

  What a baffling gift. Elementals considered sixteen to be adulthood, accepting soldiers to the army and witches to feeding harems at that tender age.

  Why would George have been given barren land in the remote Wastes as his coming of age gift?

  She could ask nicely, but something made her think that pricking him was a better w
ay to get her answers.

  “I guess by the time the king got to your sixteenth birthday, there was only ‘no man’s land’ left for a gift. Sucks to be spare to the spare to the heir. Or was there one more spare? It depends on if you count demons.”

  The last bit seemed to really hit a nerve.

  George slipped on the rocky slope he was climbing and went down on one knee.

  “I asked for the lands,” he clarified.

  “You asked your father for a dark cave in the middle of nowhere?”

  Her curiosity was growing.

  She wanted to slip into his thoughts, but given his reciprocal lightning magic, if she picked the wrong time, then he would catch her doing it.

  No point getting his guard up for information unless it was more important.

  “Yes, I asked him for a dark cave in the middle of nowhere,” George parroted.

  He had gotten back to his feet and was climbing again.

  She huffed her annoyance because that didn’t answer her curiosity.

  “All alone, where no one can hear the screams,” he added before she could ask him again.

  George, the serial killer, was more in keeping of what she knew about him.

  Maybe she had been too hasty in assuming he didn't want to kill her. No way was he getting near her neck to feed.

  She squeezed him on the hips and shoulders, where she was clinging to his back, looking around for an escape.

  “It was a joke,” George said, reaching behind him to cup her bum with one hand and the other handcuffing one of her forearms.

  She wasn’t getting away. There wasn’t anywhere to run anyway, which seemed like it had kind of been the point.

  “I’ve been using lightning longer than you. Just try me, and I'll have you squawking like a chicken and pecking the ground for worms,” she warned him.

  “Are you really threatening me?” George asked, with a light laugh.

  How quickly he forgot her slamming down, towards him, in the practice room, with a thousand shards of glass to rip his measly shield to shreds.

  She’d even been holding back that day, afraid to demonstrate her lightning that was her true strength.

  If George thought the slaying he witnessed earlier was the extent of her power, he was in for a surprise. She had been unfairly disadvantaged by her head injury from the dragon flying into her.