by Anya Bast
She moved on the bed, waking up slowly. Jack sat on the desk in the dark, flicking the Zippo on and off absentmindedly as he watched her.
Yesterday he'd felt compelled to make actual contact with her, so he'd gone into the diner and watched her work. Her eyes were hazel. Sometimes brown, sometimes green. Her smile was easy and seemed genuine. She actually appeared to like people, which was something he couldn't say about himself.
"Mmmm, huh?" Mira murmured from the bed. She gasped as she caught sight of him in the darkened room and pushed up into a sitting position, her hand instantly going to her head at the abrupt movement.
Jack put the Zippo down. "How are you feeling?”
She took a few moments to answer. "Like I've been hit by a truck, abducted, and am now in fear for my life. How are you?”
"You're here for your own protection.”
"That's probably what all serial killers say.”
He slid off the desk, walked to the side of the bed, and flipped the light on. She eyed him uneasily and moved toward the center of the mattress, away from him. He watched her glance around the room, taking in the mahogany furniture, the paintings on the wall. She centered her gaze on each exit in turn—the door to the main part of his apartment, the door to the bathroom, and the window.
"Don't try the window," he said. "We're on the fifty-second floor. Are you hungry, thirsty?”
She licked her lips. "I want you to tell me what's going on.”
"Your head must hurt. You want an aspirin, maybe?”
Mira hesitated. "An aspirin would be good.”
He walked into the bathroom to get the aspirin bottle and a cup of water. By the time he got back, she was gone. Unsurprising. He could hear her fumbling the locks at the front door in desperation.
Jack sighed, set the bottle and cup down, and walked through the living room toward her.
She was just working the top lock and swearing a blue streak when he reached her. He pressed his body against hers and covered her hand with his own. She stilled immediately and shivered a little.
Jack tried hard not to enjoy the feeling of her pressed to him, but he couldn't help it. The sound of her breathing, harsh in the quiet air, made his libido twitch with interest. It made him think of other situations when she might be flush up against him, her breathing ragged. A situation in which they'd be wearing far less clothing and Mira would be feeling far friendlier toward him. It was natural, he reminded himself yet again, the natural attraction of fire to air.
His pelvis cupped her gorgeous ass in this position, his chest bracing her back. He couldn't help but wonder what she'd do if he slid his hands over her breasts, gathered the hem of her skirt and pulled it upward. How would her sex feel bared to his exploring hand? What kind of sounds would she make as he stroked her?
You stupid bastard, he scolded himself. She’d scream like a siren.
But give him time and he could seduce her. He knew how to touch her to make her want him ... beg for him. Even though he shouldn't, he could tempt her into his bed.
The faint scent of her rose perfume teased his nose as he leaned down and placed his mouth close to her ear. "You're incredibly predictable. Even if you'd gotten out the front door, you never would've been able to call the elevator without my security code.”
"What do you mean?”
"I mean my apartment is the only one on this floor. I mean I have the elevator on security mode. You can't access it without my code. No one comes up or goes down without it. No one even stops at this floor without my permission." Beyond that, the magickal wards in place wouldn't allow her to cross the threshold once she'd opened the door. She wasn't yet ready for that information, however.
"You're a prisoner here. A princess in a tower," he breathed silkily into her ear.
She shivered against him again and her breath shuddered out of her. "I'll be missed, you know. My employers will miss me when I don't come into work. Plus, you made a racket last night. Someone must have seen you, heard you—”
"I didn't make a racket, Mira. The men who were trying to kidnap you made the racket." He paused. "Anyway, your neighbors weren't home. That's why the goons chose that time to break into your apartment. You live in the basement of that building, a very isolated place. It's old and well soundproofed. I doubt anyone noticed anything. They planned it that way.”
Her breathing hitched. "What do you mean? Who's they?’
It was hard to let her go, but he stepped back. She turned. Fear warred with rage on her face, and the latter emotion won. Her eyes were greener than brown now, made bright with anger.
"Your aspirin and your answers are in the bedroom," he answered.
With a baleful glare, she walked back into the bedroom.
He followed her. Once inside the room, he pointed at the nightstand and watched as she took the medicine.
Jack picked up the pair of blue silk pajamas he'd draped over a nearby chair. They were probably about her size. "It's late and I'm tired. I found these in one of my drawers. They should fit you." He nodded toward the bathroom. "Go in there and put them on. Feel free to take a shower if you'd like. The door locks from the inside, if it would make you feel better. I swept the room clean, however. Everything that could be a weapon is locked up, so don't waste your time looking.”
She just stared at him, her jaw locked and pretty eyes flashing.
"Do it and I'll explain everything when you come back out. I'm not going to hurt you.”
She glanced at the pajamas. "Whose are they?”
"Not some woman I just killed, I promise. They were left here by a friend.”
"I bet you have lots of friends.”
Jack shrugged. "I don't do too bad for myself.”
Mira snorted. "I'm sure you're the king of one-night stands.”
"One-night-stands are not fulfilling for either partner.”
She blinked. "I hesitate to ask why you think that. Then here I am, asking why.”
He smiled. "One night isn't long enough to learn a woman's body, how she likes to be touched." He paused and dropped his voice a little. "I wonder how many nights with me you could handle, Mira?”
She inhaled sharply. "Damn, you're an arrogant pig.”
He shrugged and held out the pajamas again. "Are you going to take them or not? You have to be sick of your work clothes by now, and they won't be comfortable to sleep in.”
She hesitated, then took the clothing and went into the bathroom. Obviously, she didn't feel at ease enough to take a shower because she emerged after five minutes dressed in the pajamas. The color made her eyes a little browner, he noticed, and her red-painted toenails peeked from the bottom of the too-long pants.
"Sit down on the bed," he instructed.
She sat, and he sank down next to her. Mira tried to slide away from him, but he held her by the upper arm. "Stay still," he ordered. "I'm not going to hurt you.”
He reached up and pushed her hair away in order to examine her bruise. She flinched. "It's all right. I just want to take a look at it.”
She kept her wary gaze on him as he took a closer look at the bruise. He covered the injury with his hand and felt his palm heat up. Concentrating on the area, he did his best to manipulate the cells to regenerate faster. He couldn't do much for her, but he could do a little. Healing, ironically, was in the realm of fire.
"It's hot," she gasped. "What are you doing?”
"I'm almost done.”
He took his hand away and noted with approval that the bruise already looked a little better. "How much do you know about your parents?”
"My parents?”
"Yes, you know, the people who created you? They died when you were just a toddler, leaving you to be raised by your godmother.”
"I know who they were," she snapped. "I know when and how they died. How do you know that?”
He waited a moment before answering. "It's my job to know about the witches who are placed in my care.”
She stared at him for a momen
t, clearly registering the word witch. "Oh, you're insane! You think... the Wicca... in the restaurant.... Hell." She shot up, yanked free of his grasp, and went for the door.
He grabbed her around the waist before she got very far and held her against his chest. She felt fragile against him and he fought to not underestimate his strength and hurt her. "You need to sit down and listen to what I have to say.”
Mira struggled against him, but he only tightened his hold until she stilled. "I don't have to listen to anything you have to say, you crazy son of a bitch!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.
Jack wrestled her back to the bed and sat her down. He wished there was an easier way to do this, to make her understand that he was on her side.
"Screw this." She bolted again, and he caught her around the waist again, swinging her back around to land on the bed.
"Please. Stay. Still.”
She glared up at him. Her head had to be pounding by now. She also had to know she had no chance against him. He had a lot more muscle and weight to throw around than she did. She couldn't beat him in a physical fight. The ironic thing was that she could best him with her magick; she just didn't know how to wield it.
"I didn't want to have to do this, but you're leaving me no choice. Lay back against the pillows," he ordered. When she didn't comply, he added a menacing, "Do it now.”
She leaned back, and he took a length of rope from the drawer in his nightstand. He straddled her waist and drew her hands above her head.
With a deftness that came from lots of practice, he looped the ends around her wrists, tying them tight enough without cutting off her blood flow, and secured the ends to the eyebolt in the wall over the center of the mattress. He left enough slack so she could put her arms down and turn over. She had room to move, but she wouldn't be able to get the rope undone very easily. Jack was proficient at tying knots.
When he finished, he sat down next to her on the bed.
"I see you're a real expert," she growled at him and glanced at the eyebolt. "You use that a lot, do you? Know your way around a length of rope?”
He smiled. "I've had my share of practice with lots of willing women. Key word is willing. That's nice rope, by the way. Hemp. It's made to lie against the skin. It won't chafe you.”
"I'm not a willing woman.”
"You almost slit my throat in your apartment. You're staying tied up." He sat back and admired his handiwork. She looked damn good tied to his bed. Too damn good.
Jack forced his mind back to the subject at hand. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Tell me what you know about your parents," he demanded again.
She sighed as though tired and fed up. Other women would be crying by now. She was pissed off. Mira might seem meek on the outside, but her spine was made of steel. "My mother was a secretary. My father worked in construction. They died in a car crash when I was three years old. I have hazy memories of them that I can't be sure really ever happened. Maybe I just wished them into existence. I know other things, but it's all secondhand stuff, told to me by my godmother." She paused. "Why?”
"Your parents didn't die in a car crash. They did die, but that's not how they met their end. I'm not going to play around here, okay? I know you're not going to believe me, but both your parents were witches. Their element was air. It's a rare ability that they passed down to you." He drew a breath. "You're a witch, Mira."
THREE
She stared for a moment and them laughed harshly. "First of all, you're insane. Second of all, I'm Wiccan, not a witch. There's a difference. Wicca is a religion, and witchcraft is a practice. Wicca is about spirituality, worship of the Lord and Lady, observing the Wheel of the Year. Witchcraft is about casting spells to achieve certain outcomes. I don't practice witchcraft. I don't even believe in that part of it. You can be Wiccan and a witch, but I am just Wiccan!" she finished with a shout. Her face had gone beet red.
"Doesn't matter what you believe. Not believing doesn't make it untrue." He shook his head. "Wicca might be your religion, but witchcraft is in your blood. You're a natural witch. You just don't realize it yet. Your element is air, just like your parents. That means your power is centered in commanding air, separating your consciousness from your body, intuitive ability, accessing and directing sound waves. Your abilities lie in manipulating anything in the realm of air, and that, Mira, is nearly everything. It's the most powerful element.”
"Insane," she muttered again. "You've been watching too many episodes of Charmed.”
He ignored her. "You're a real elemental witch, with natural magick running through your veins. I'm not talking about a Goth poser here or a spell caster. There are no bubbling cauldrons, no multicolored candles to burn, no smudge sticks. There's just elemental power and your ability to wield it.”
"Sure. Whatever. You probably believe in the Easter bunny, too.”
"I bet you've loved the wind since you were a child. I bet you keep your windows open whenever you can, relish a windy day and find excuses to be outside in it, find tornadoes powerful and intriguing. I bet you love the feel of a breeze stirring the hair at the back of your neck—”
"Everyone loves that stuff.”
"No, they don't. I bet you've always been predisposed to sound. Sometimes you wake up hearing voices in your room or maybe you hear people calling your name as you fall asleep or perhaps you hear sounds that seem so real it's like they're happening right in your bedroom. Maybe sometimes it seems you hear other people's thoughts or anticipate their desires. People probably call you intuitive, but it goes much further than simple, natural intuitiveness.”
She stared at him. Her face had gone a little pale.
"I'm right, aren't I?”
Mira looked away from him with a look of contempt on her face and sniffed. "You're in league with Ben, for all I know. Maybe he put you up to this.”
Anger flared within him that she would compare him with an idiot like Ben Williams. He knew all about her ex. He was a selfish, stupid asshole who couldn't recognize gold when it was right in his hands.
"Don't associate me with him," he said in a low voice.
She looked back at him, her eyes wide.
Jack ran his hand over his face and forced himself not to give into the irritation he felt. He leaned in close to her. "On some level, you understand what I'm saying. On some level, you've always known you were different." He paused and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me that's not true.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
He leaned back. "It takes one to know one. My element is fire." He snapped his fingers and opened his palm. In the center burned a small blue flame. It was a parlor trick, but a spectacular one for the uninitiated.
Mira gasped and backed up as much as she could into the pillows. "How are you doing that?”
"It's magick. My magick. It's the magick of fire.”
"It's a trick. Just some stupid trick.”
He concentrated on the flame, letting it spread and lick up his wrist and his inner arm, over his sleeve. Mira gasped. "Yes, it's a trick, but not like you're thinking. Took me awhile to learn this one. Fire is a complicated element, dangerous and unpredictable. It takes a lot of time to master. I have my fair share of scars to show for it.”
"H-how are you doing that?" she asked again.
"I called fire into being in the center of my hand. I'm holding it in check with my mind so it doesn't burn me. It takes a long time to develop the strength of will and the concentration to command fire.”
"That's impossible," she breathed, staring at the flame.
He turned his arm, letting the flame twist around it, gently engulfing it. Fire was like a pet to him, now that he could control the element with confidence. He smiled, watching Mira's face.
"Impossible," she breathed again.
"Your mind has been trained to believe this is impossible, that people can't manipulate their environment and create things from thin air. Reality is so much bigger than you think it is. It's so much more flexible. You can do
this too, although with air, not fire.”
"I can create ... air?”
"When there's a lack of it. I meant that with the proper training, you'd be able to create a breeze or a wind.”
Her expression changed from awe to skepticism. "So I guess I'll never suffocate then." She shrugged. "Or get caught in the middle of a lake in a sailboat on a windless day. Oh, can I throw away my hair dryer now? And—”
"Mira?" he purred silkily, ignoring her joke. "You know what happens to fire when it's fed by air?" He held her gaze as he blew on the flame circling his wrist. It flared brilliantly. "We complement each other."
MIRA LOST HER TRAIN OF THOUGHT—ACTUALLY, it was more like it had a wreck somewhere in her head. The first impression that popped into her mind after Jack's words cleared everything else out was fire consumes air.
Jack's dark, mesmerizing eyes locked with hers and she couldn't look away. "You and I have a natural attraction," he said gently.
Gentle from this man seemed dangerous.
He extinguished the flame with another snap of his fingers and showed her his hand and forearm, so she could see he wasn't wearing anything special on it and that he wasn't injured, though it was true he did have what looked like an old burn scar on his wrist. She sniffed the air, but could smell no chemical.
"You're a good magician, so what?" she said in a shaky voice. "You're an insane serial killer who likes to do tricks for his hostages. You like to pretend there's such a thing as magick.”
He ignored her. "Your parents didn't want you exposed to any of this stuff. They hid your birth from the Coven. It was their right to do so. Their last wish was that your godmother let you grow up as a normal kid. But a couple weeks ago your godmother, Annie Weber, got a call that disturbed her. She worried it might be the man who'd hurt your parents, a man who heads a group of witches out for their own gain. Annie was so worried that she defied your parent's last wish and called us.”