Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

  Fear crept up my body and closed around my throat. I struggled for air as a soft scratching sound scraped the other side of the door. Despite the constant note ringing in my ears, the scratching sound came through loud and clear, sending prickles of discomfort over my skin.

  I considered checking the doorknob, but with the creature so close, lying in wait just beyond the thin wood barrier, I thought better of it and turned tail instead.

  I had two questions as I backed out of the room. Well, I had a thousand, but two flashed salient in my mind. One, if my sexy time with Roane was just a dream, how did I get wet? And two, why did I keep waking up in the attic? Was something drawing me there? The creature? If so, how?

  Either way, I’d had about enough of his antics. Not that I could do anything about it, but maybe Gigi would know something.

  After making quick work of the narrow flight of stairs, I hugged myself to generate some warmth and hurried to the secret portal to my room. The shelves had been pulled open, apparently by yours truly, and I hurried through them, ready to start the day. I turned on my shower with a shivering hand and turned on the light. Yep. Just like the girl from The Ring. Not a good look for me.

  Making quick work of the soaking T-shirt, I wrapped a towel around myself and went into my room to find the usual suspects still sprawled across my bed. As I hurried to my closet to ferret out dry clothes for the day, I checked the time: 1:01.

  I stopped and stared at the digital display. I knew for a fact I had lain there for a good half hour before going downstairs. Or had I dreamed the entire thing? If I was dreaming about lying in bed unable to go to sleep, my dreams sucked.

  Then again, I had dreamed about Roane. They couldn’t suck that bad.

  Groaning softly, I grabbed a tee and an old pair of sweats with more holes in them than I had limbs. I hopped in the shower and noticed my hair smelled like salt. Like the salt from the caves under the house.

  As usual, nothing made sense. I showered, dressed, and went downstairs, this time in search of coffee. I couldn’t sleep either way, and since we now knew it had been Annette’s powers transforming everything to poison and not some random killer, I felt safe to make a pot of the dark elixir and look over the book Gigi had pulled out for Annette and me.

  But when I entered the kitchen, a soft glow coming from the lights under the cabinets illuminated a gorgeous man—a man named Roane—sitting at the table reading a book, his hair wet, his chest bare.

  I stopped short and took him in. He wore a pair of sweats, too. Light gray with a team emblem of some kind down one side. His feet were bare, and I felt oddly voyeuristic staring at them. I’d never had a foot fetish, but—

  “Are you just going to watch, or are you going to join me?” he asked without looking up. The same words he’d used in the dream. Had it been a dream? His hair hung wet. His lashes still spiked. The fresh scent of sandalwood in the air. He lifted his cup then gestured toward the coffee pot. “It’s fresh.”

  “It’s one o’clock in the morning,” I said, crossing to the pot.

  “It is.”

  His now-familiar scent wafted around me, mingling with the roasted coffee beans, and I made a mental note to have Annette make that scent into a cologne. We’d be rich in no time.

  He rose to refill his cup just as I took one down from the cabinet. He pressed into me from behind. Reached around and grabbed the carafe.

  When he poured me a cup then refilled his own, I asked, “Am I dreaming again?”

  He replaced the carafe. “Were you dreaming before?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I turned in his arms. “Did we almost have sex in your shower?”

  He pulled back. “You dreamed that, too?”

  After taking a moment to study his incredible mouth, full and sculpted and sensual, I asked, “So, it was a dream?”

  One corner of that mouth rose. “A dream we could easily make come true.”

  He was so delicious. So astoundingly and disarmingly delicious. And there I stood in all my dowdy glory.

  I turned away from him. I’d never wanted anything or anyone so bad in my life. So bad it scared me, the force behind it mountainous. I bit my lip and asked softly, “Roane, can I keep you?”

  “Keep me? Like chained in a dungeon?”

  One thoughtful brow rose as I considered the possibilities. Then I snorted, coming to my senses. Where would I even find a dungeon? Wait. I had one. The caves beneath the house. I just needed a few chains. A rack. A torch or two. “No,” I said, shaking out of my thoughts. “Just… can I have you? Forever? Not for a day or a week or a month, but forever?”

  He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip then licked it. “I thought I made my feelings on the matter clear when I asked you to marry me.”

  “See, that’s the problem.” I pushed past him, cup in hand. “Marriage means nothing anymore. It’s just a stupid piece of paper that no one takes seriously.”

  “So my asking you to marry me was meaningless.”

  “No.” I breathed out a frustrated sigh. “No. It wasn’t meaningless. It was… I’m honored.”

  “You misunderstand, Ms. Dayne. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to understand you on this. You’re saying you want me. Not just for a day or a week or a month. You want me forever.”

  For some inane reason, humiliation surged inside me, but there was no stopping now. “Yes. I want you forever.”

  “Then accept me.”

  “What?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “You have to accept me. Marrying me would show acceptance, but it doesn’t have to go that far. You can just accept me.”

  “Okay, then, I…” I’d started to answer but something gave me pause. Nothing for the last several months was that easy. There was always a catch. “What does that mean, exactly? Accept you?”

  “It’s something I read. The book Georgi gave you.” He pointed toward the book with his chin. “I’ve read it a couple of times. It talks about how a charmling assigns a sentry, a guardian who protects her throughout her entire life.”

  A warmth spread in my chest. “You want to be my bodyguard?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re hired.”

  “You have to say it. And there’s a spell to make it official. Then I’m yours. Forever.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds rather permanent.”

  He took a sip. “It is.”

  “Let me read the passage and get back to you.”

  “So, you lied.”

  “What? No. I just want to read the fine print. When you say forever…”

  “I mean forever. Even into the afterlife.”

  “I love the sound of that. Well, not the afterlife stuff, but getting to keep you forever. It’s what I want. Really. But it just seems like there’s more to it than you’re letting on. Like, perhaps, you’ll lose your free will. Your choice in the matter.”

  “But it is my choice. It’s what I want, too.”

  “Yeah, now.” I threw my hands up in helplessness. “What if you change your mind? What if a year rolls around and you decide you can’t stand me? Then what? You’re just stuck with me?”

  He lowered his head. “You would be stuck with me as well. Is that so bad?”

  “Holy shit. You’re not kidding.” I hurried to the book I hadn’t had a chance to look at yet and started flipping through the pages.

  He reached around me. “I can just show—”

  I held up my hand. “I’ve got it.” I positioned the book in front of me and did a reveal spell, impatience spurring me forward. The pages fanned out, fluttering in the glow from the spell, and settled on a passage near the middle. I looked down and read. Then I read again before stepping away from it as though it had a communicable disease. “What kind of sixth-century bullshit is this?”

  “Defiance, it’s not that bad.”

  I spun toward him. “Not that bad?”

  He bit down, refusing to answer.

  “The word i
s not accept, Roane. A charmling does not accept a guardian. She claims one. She chooses the strongest, most capable person in the land and claims them as her guardian and then they, having exactly zero say in the matter, will defend her until their death.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, but wait! There’s more!” I pointed to a particularly disturbing passage and graced him with my best accusatory glare. “This says if I die, you die.” I let that sink in, then repeated, “If I die, you die. Period. If anything happens to me, it happens to you. My guardian, who is bound to me forever, even in the freaking afterlife, dies if I do.”

  “It’s a good incentive to keep you safe,” he said, lifting a shoulder in utter nonchalance.

  “Roane. Did you read the entire thing?”

  His face darkened as he studied me from beneath his thick lashes. “Cover to cover. Several times.”

  “So you know that if you die, if you meet some horrible demise at the hands of a maniacal warlock while protecting yours truly, I get to go out, dressed to the nines, no doubt, and find—no, claim—another guardian. Just slap a collar around his neck, pretty as you please, while you’re lying in a grave somewhere.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Is that a problem?” I balked. “Roane, there are no take-backs. Neither of us gets to change our minds. I almost bound you to me for life without knowing all the details. You”—I released a sharp breath as reality sank in—“you did that on purpose.”

  He stepped closer again. “I did. But you’re forgetting something.” He pointed to the last paragraph. “You, in turn, protect me.”

  “Yeah, well, that part’s pretty sketchy. How do I protect you?”

  “Some of your power is transferred to me. I can’t do spells or anything, but your power protects me so I can protect you. It’s like a magical prophylactic.”

  The scoff that came out of my mouth was filled partly with humor and partly with horror. I sobered, then turned to him. “Of course,” I said. “That’s what all of this is about. You’re power hungry.”

  His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Immensely.”

  “You want my magics for your own nefarious schemes.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You’re going to try to take over the world.”

  “Indubitably.”

  “Indubitably?” I asked, impressed.

  He took two fingers and gently backed me against the table. “I ran out of adverbs. It was all I could think of.” He pressed into me, the sweats leaving very little to the imagination.

  No more dreams. No more interruptions. I wanted the cock.

  As he sent both hands up my T-shirt, the sensation delicious on my skin, I tugged his sweats down over his hips. His erection fell against my exposed stomach, and he pressed closer. He cupped my breast and slid his thumbs over my nipples before lifting my tee over my head.

  Cool air washed over skin that suddenly seemed too warm. Too tight. I worried for a moment about getting caught naked in the kitchen, but he would know if anyone were going to walk in on us. Even Samuel, since he pretty much only followed Ink.

  He moved the book, then lifted me onto the table and lowered me back. The cold wood felt like ice, the shock almost painful. I drew in a soft breath at the sensation, the heat of his mouth on my rib cage a study in contrast. I buried my hands in his hair as he trailed kisses over my breasts, stopping to suck the peaks. The pressure caused waves of pleasure to course through my body. A hot blush rushed over my skin.

  I wanted him closer. I wanted his cock in my hands, but I couldn’t quite reach. His sucking made me squirm as the first sparks of an orgasm flickered to life in my core, and then his mouth was on mine. He slid my sweats over my hips and pushed between my legs, but I’d waited a long time for this. And I wanted more.

  “Stop,” I said, pushed at his shoulders.

  He stopped instantly and reared back. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck.” He pulled me to a sitting position and tugged on his sweats.

  I grabbed his hands, and whispered, “Stop.”

  At first, he looked at me, confused. But when I finished removing my sweats and panties and stood in front of him completely naked—something I’d rarely done with my exes—Roane looked like he was on the verge of eating me alive. “Defiance,” he said, moving closer, but I held up a hand.

  “Uh-uh,” I said, waving an index finger at him. “My turn.”

  His eyes glistened with desire, but I held him at bay.

  “I wonder what will happen if I do this…” I drew a spell with two fingers on his chest. The light burst from the lines and sank into his skin.

  He let out a sharp breath, like he’d jumped into an icy lake. His knees almost gave. He stepped back and put his hands on the island behind him to support his weight.

  I stepped closer, leaned in, and whispered into his ear, “Good boy. Now stay.”

  A low growl rumbled from his chest, but I held my ground.

  “And what will happen, if I do this?” I drew another spell a little lower. It shattered and soaked into his skin.

  He threw back his head with a groan. His hands, hard and masculine, started to shake as they clutched the island. As the spell caressed and stroked and nipped.

  I pushed his sweats down. His erection, massively engorged, stayed upright against his abdomen. He was on the verge of climax. I drew my fingers lower, pushed the magics down until they enveloped his cock. Fire and ice and everything nice.

  “Defiance, fucking hell,” he bit out.

  But they were coming back onto to me. The magics. I felt them like an electric wind on my skin. Hot and stinging and sensual, they pooled in my abdomen and beat a slow, rhythmic pulse. I sank to my knees and took his cock, first into my hand and then into my mouth.

  A raw sound escaped his throat, and he grabbed a handful of my hair, to stop me or assist, I didn’t know. When I took him deeper, I felt a rush of blood as his climax neared. I wanted it. I wanted him to come in my mouth, but I got my answer. He held my head to stop me.

  I fought him. I slid out to the throbbing tip, circled it with my tongue, and eased back onto him. His muscles constricted again, and I drew another spell low on his abdomen. Then I grabbed his hips with both hands and pulled him all the way inside.

  He couldn’t have stopped what came next any more than he could’ve stopped the sun from rising. His orgasm came in swift, successive waves. He spilled into me, his groans echoing off the walls as he came in my mouth.

  But just as I suspected, I’d connected us. With every surge of pleasure that coursed through him, I was gifted the same. His orgasm clamped onto me, sank into me, lifted me up. I parted my legs as the sweet sting that was coiled around my clit burst and washed over me. I moaned and my body convulsed with wave after undulating wave of shattering arousal.

  He wrapped both arms around my head and held me to him as we both finished. The momentary lack of oxygen actually sent my orgasm spiraling again, and it took me a moment to come down.

  I’d clung to his hips, an anchor to wait out the storm, while I drifted back to earth. I realized I was emitting a soft moan with each breath, but I’d never felt anything like that. I didn’t know orgasms could be so sharp. So delicious. So intoxicating. Nor that they could reach such dizzying heights. When the world finally stopped spinning, I cupped him in my hands, sat back on my heels, and looked up at him.

  He sank to his knees, pushed my hair back from my face, and gazed at me like I’d hung the moon. It was a feeling I could get used to. Then he brushed his full, sexy lips over mine seconds before claiming them. And we kissed. A deep, long, wet kiss that left me breathless once again.

  Had I known that what we just did was only the pre-show, I would’ve paced myself.

  Seventeen

  Sometimes I go hours without drinking coffee.

  It’s called sleeping.

  —Meme

  I woke up in a strange plac
e again, only this time, I wasn’t alone. Roane lay snuggled against my backside, and we were in his apartment. In his bedroom. On his bed.

  I grabbed a fistful of blanket and inhaled the scent of him, giddy with elation, before I tried to ease out of his embrace.

  He pulled me tighter.

  Laughing softly, I turned in his arms. The early morning hues filtering in through a high, ground-level window were just enough light for me to study his features. Strong. Alluring. Devastatingly handsome.

  After a moment, he caught on to the fact that I was looking at him and buried his face against my neck. “You can’t leave.”

  “I have a lot to do.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” I said, giggling when he went for an ear.

  He rolled on top of me, pushed his hips between my legs, and entered me in one smooth thrust.

  My breath caught, and my body tightened around him.

  His mouth at my ear, he whispered, “What about now?”

  The pleasure was instantaneous. I sent my hands over the roundness of his buttocks and pulled him deeper.

  He hissed in a soft breath.

  “I guess I can stay a few more minutes.”

  “I hate to break it to you,” he said as he eased out and slid back in, going deeper this time, causing all kinds of rapturous delights to swirl in my abdomen, “but this could take a while.”

  I grabbed a fistful of his hair, gasping with each painstaking thrust, each nip along my skin, and resigned myself to the careful ministrations of a very dedicated, very skilled lover.

  An hour later, we were awakened by a hungry, battle-scarred cat who was in no mood for our snuggles. It was hardly his fault. The bottom of his bowl was most likely showing through.

  The horror!

  I left Roane in the shower, fed the cat, then went in search of sustenance before remembering we had none, thanks to the curly-haired vixen asleep in my bed. Thus, I changed into warmer clothes and made a breakfast run, committing grand theft auto since Minerva had the Bug. I had to jack Annette’s ruby-red Dodge Charger. The one with a Hemi under the hood and 425 horsepower. The trip to Red’s didn’t take long.