Hateful Desire

by Marianne Willis

The throb in her foot increased, but she didn’t care. “You’re wrong.” She raised her fingers, and scanned her brain for a spell. “And I’m sorry to do this, but seeing as you won’t leave, I’ll have to dispose of you.”

  “Yeah.” He dug into his pocket. “About that.” An orange glass ball was in his hand. With a grin, he threw the strange object at her feet.

  The ball smashed, shards crumbled to sand on the floor. Cold liquid splashed her legs, orange smoke drifted in thick waves. She coughed once, twice, head inflated with fuzzy images. Her body sagged with sudden exhaustion, ready to curl into a ball and sleep.

  Tingles travelled from her toes to her scalp, reminding her of caffeine, or a shot of adrenaline, and the dizzy fatigue left quicker than it arrived. She cleared her throat. “What was that?”

  He dusted his hands, not losing his grin. “The little orange ball was a potion.” With the utter contentment suffused on his face, she waited for the stupid wolf to pat himself on the back. “A potion, which took away your powers. You can’t harm me now. In fact, you can’t perform any witchcraft.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled past her throat. She took in his proud, tall stance and the way he crossed his arms over his chest as though he’d won a poker game.

  I’ll kill him.

  Her hands curled into fists, and she lunged at the bastard.

  Chapter 6

  Her knuckles throbbed, knocking his jaw, his nose, his eye. He took each lash. Hell, he didn’t even flinch on some. His hands waved in attempt to catch her swinging dukes, and she drew back, throwing her body into the next punch. All her pent-up anger surged forth. But where the hell was the inner satisfaction? A spell would do more harm than her puny fists. However, he’d said she possessed no power. She clenched her jaw at the thought, and struck his cheekbone. This time he growled.

  “Stop that.” He bound her wrists and squeezed. “Stop,” he ordered.

  “Restore my magic, now—Ouch! What the…?” She gritted her teeth. A throbbing ache palpitated from the base of her foot, and ignoring his frown, she averted her gaze. Droplets of blood smeared along the floor. She gulped, and the pulsation worsened, as though seeing the injury increased the pain.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, noticing the crimson spots on the white marble. Strong arms snaked beneath her legs, and she yelped when he scooped her into his embrace and carried her through the foyer. He knew the way around her house!

  Will this nightmare ever end?

  He entered the formal dining area, and lowered her on the edge of the royal oak table. “No,” she blurted. Her mother would kill her if blood stained the gilded, upholstered dining chairs. “Not in here.”

  “What do you mean, not in here? I’m checking your wound, Amber. Not searching for a room to score.”

  She glared, but he was too focused on securing her foot. The image surged by his words glued to the corners of her mind, refusing to fade. Him stripping and taking her against the table; their bodies rocking into each other, their hands caressing and holding with desperation…Panic made her breath catch. Did she actually hope the delicious fantasy to be a reality? “No!”

  He growled with annoyance, and gripped her ankle tighter. “Be still.” The irritable demand tamed her thrashing. “There’s a glass splinter in your foot.”

  Yeah, he’d no doubt shove the shard in further. “You should know better than to throw glass at someone’s feet.”

  A pink hue spread across his cheeks, and she almost told him the truth. The twinge had occurred down the narrow street, but screw telling him. Let him assume he hurt her...the jerk.

  “The ball might’ve shattered, but the glass puffed into powder at the smash, incapable of hurting you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to use the damn thing.”

  Agreed with whom? The bigger question; did her powers really no longer exist, or could he be bluffing? One way to find out. Amber studied the room. A cream L-shaped sofa decorated with mocha cushions perched near the bay window, complemented by the seventy-inch plasma screen. The glass display cabinet next to the archway sat opposite an oak-wood wine rack. She knew better than to use magic on her Ma’s furniture.

  She regarded Chayton. Here goes nothing…

  “Four walls…” A large, strenuous lump emerged behind her tonsils.

  His brow rose, as if gauging her.

  She cleared her throat, and tried again. “Four walls surround…” The blockage returned, but something else was strange. A sense had gone, as if a part of her spirit vanished. The familiar warmness that spread whenever she cast a spell was dead. He hadn’t lied. She was powerless. Amber blinked back the burn of tears. Her concentration resumed to Chayton, withdrawing the fragment with gentle care.

  She cringed, and a warm tear roamed her cheek. Not because of the sting, but the realisation her power was truly gone. She’d planned to practice, to perfect her craft, and become an Elite like the rest of her family. Now, she was less than a mortal.

  He paused, eyes snapped to her face before returning to her injured foot. “Nearly out, promise.”

  The soft words seeped beneath her skin, hummed around her chest. She hated the peculiar comfort consuming her.

  “There, done.” He placed the splinter on the table.

  She peered up, and bit the side of her cheek to keep the storm of emotions in check. “How could you?” A livid tone was what she hoped for, but her voice trembled.

  He shifted his gaze.

  “What happened?” her mother asked, entering with a tray of glasses and a jug of lemonade.

  He still avoided her eyes. “She must’ve hurt herself on the run home.”

  “Oh, Amber, you are so clumsy. And you’re going to drip blood on my clean floors.” Taylor handed him a tea-towel. “Here, use this.”

  “Thanks,” he said, dabbing her foot with the material.

  She snatched the cloth, adding pressure to the cut. “I can take care of myself.”

  Her mother scowled, but Amber didn’t care. The politeness between the two raked her nerves. She did not like it one bit.

  “The gash is deep. You need to be healed,” he said.

  She refused to peer at the intensifying heat she sensed was his eyes. Lemon lingered in the air, and she inhaled its freshness to unblock her racing mind, but the wet slap of spit hitting flesh made her flinch. He’d spat into his open palm, why? Tugging the cloth out of her hand, he tossed the blood-stained tea-towel beside her, and rubbed saliva over the injury.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Amber, hush,” Taylor ordered.

  “This will work,” he confirmed.

  A soft soothing tingle enveloped her foot, and the hurt eased. Amber gripped her ankle. Not even a pink scar marked where the cut had been. But, how?

  “There’s further proof I’m your mate. My saliva can heal you.”

  Fire coursed within, and she fixed him with a stare she hoped spoke volumes. “I would’ve preferred stitches.”

  Her mother laid a hand over his shoulder. “I am so sorry. She’s embarrassing me and herself.”

  Warmth filled Amber’s cheeks...and no, not from embarrassment, but fury. “You could have used a healing spell to help me, Ma.” Which made her wonder why she hadn’t? “What has he done, brainwashed you?”

  “No. Don’t be ridic—”

  “Do you know what he did to me?” She cut her off. “He removed my powers.” According to Taylor, oxygen and witchcraft fell in the same category. The fact he removed her power would infuriate her mother. All her life, Taylor had wished for her to become a great witch, one of the Elite.

  “I know,” her mother said with casual indifference. “I created the potion he used.”

  Amber veered back so fast, her head spun with the quick movement. She swallowed the sudden dryness assailing her mouth. “No. You couldn’t have.”

  “Um.” He grabbed the bloody tea-towel. “I’ll dump this in the hamper.”

  If only he’d throw himself in the laundry basket. />
  Her mother smiled, but when Chayton left the room, and Taylor faced her, the smile vanished. “I’m not lying. We had no other way to ensure your mate’s safety.”

  “He’s not my mate,” she ground out.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You saw the proof. The day after you left, Chayton came here and we had a long talk.”

  Amber slammed her palm on the wooden table. “He wants to hurt me.”

  “Yes, maybe before he discovered you were his, but not now. Besides, you cast a Keeper Spell on the man.” Evident irritation masked her glare. “I told you to butt out of Brianna’s situation, let the police deal with the investigation? But no, you put all your energy into rescuing a woman who sought no saving. Not to mention you dragged Chayton in the middle of it all. Can you blame him? Now he plans to make this work. You owe him.”

  “I owe him nothing,” she retorted.

  Taylor shook Amber’s shoulders. “Don’t ruin this for us.”

  Us? The woman liked to believe the world revolved around her. Amber might be familiar with her mother’s self-centred attitude, but her words confused her. “What are you talking about?”

  Taylor tilted her nose. “You understand how important peace is between the species. What better way for reconciliation by yours and Chayton’s joining? Can’t you see the significance? You, my daughter, will be the mate of a pack leader in the Wahyu tribe.”

  Now, there was news. “He’s the leader of his pack?”

  “Not yet, but he plans to be. And everyone will know of our alliance with the werewolves. Your father and I will be well respected.”

  This made her mother happy? A relationship with Chayton secured some sick self-righteous reputation for her parents. For years she’d strived to satisfy this woman. She had thrown in sweat, blood, and tears. Now, all it took was a commitment to a man...a werewolf she knew little about and hated. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Yes.” Taylor lowered her arms, her lips thinning. “I am. This is for the best. You should be privileged.”

  Amber glanced away and swallowed, but the burn in her eyes surged forth, and she allowed the tears to fall. “His marks may be on my body, but I don’t feel it in here.” She poked her chest.

  Her mother sneered. “And the power may have run through your veins, but you were never a good witch either.”

  Taylor made her point, and it stung like a bitch. “But I planned to practice, build my skill and technique. Will I ever gain my powers?”

  “Maybe.” Her mother shrugged. “The one who removed them can grant them. So if you play nice, he might be lenient. First, he must trust you.”

  Chayton strode into the room. “Everything okay?”

  Taylor poured the lemonade and handed him a glass. “Yes. Amber, why don’t you go upstairs, freshen up, so you and Chayton can sit and talk. Chayton, you will stay for dinner, won’t you?”

  No, she meant to shout, but he beat her with the response.

  “Of course,” he said after taking a sip. “But I need to head to the shops and collect my truck.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Taylor shot her a look. “Where the hell is my car?”

  The car! She swallowed, and withdrew the keys from her pocket. “Also at the shops.”

  “No problem.” He snagged the keys. “I can tow your car for you.”

  Her mother gave him a wide grin. “You are so sweet. You can’t miss it; a black Mercedes with the licence plate Taylor1.”

  “Sure thing. Oh…” He stopped at the hallway. “You were right about those French chocolates. They were delicious.”

  Someone kill her now! Amber hopped off the table, charged out of the dining room, and climbed the stairs two at a time. Baby powder perfumed the air once she shut herself in her bedroom. Oh, how she missed the fragrance. Whatever products their cleaner used was far better than the stale cigarettes smell in the motel.

  She stomped to the dresser alongside the king bed and collected some fresh clothes. Her phone sat on the peach and white quilt. No doubt her brother had dropped it off.

  Two missed calls and two messages, all from an unknown number. Brianna had tried contacting her using Tristan’s phone.

  Heard you’re on your way home, but you mustn’t be there yet. Must speak to you ASAP. Hope you’re okay, cuz. Love you.

  The cell vibrated in her hand, and she answered it. “Hello?”

  “Oh, thank God you’re all right.”

  “Brianna? I’m reading your messages.”

  “Did you just see them now? Your mother told Lucas you were home, and he called me. Where have you been? You puffed into thin air…literally.”

  “I hid out of town, unsure how safe it was to return. I discovered it wasn’t safe at all.” Her fingertip danced over the swirl pattern of the quilt. “Wait, how are you able to contact me in the cave?”

  “I’m in the main square, at the top of the cave, and the only available coverage. But forget where I am. What do you mean you’re not safe?”

  “The stupid wolf is claiming to be my mate—”

  “I don’t mean to be negative, but after you vanished, he showed us his freckles; they match yours. You’ve always been the wiz about all the species and bonding traits. You even told me about being Tristan’s moitié and what that meant.”

  She scrunched the bedcover, crinkling the material. “Let’s just say I’m in denial.”

  “There’s something else we must talk about.” The serious edge in her tone was clear. “I know you’ve been staying in Rachel’s room, and I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but I wanted to feel closer to her, and…”

  “Spit it out already, Bri.”

  “Why was there a bottle of vampire blood on the dresser?”

  Vampire blood was in the bottle!

  “Are you drinking the stuff?”

  Amber scrunched her nose. “No. I found the bottle behind Rachel’s drawer. I meant to tell you, but it slipped my mind, and then the thing happened with Chayton.”

  “Dammit. I suspected her drinking had grown out of control.”

  Amber stood and paced. “Why would she drink vampire blood?”

  “Because it tastes better than any alcoholic beverage, not to mention the headiness you experience when drinking the stuff. What I don’t understand is how Rachel obtained it.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “I guess we never will.”

  A pause met the line. “Amber, I’m worried about you. I can come for a visit. Your brother’s arranging the settlement for my condo, but I can stay with you for a few days.”

  Time with her cousin sounded like a dream. However, that wouldn’t be fair on Tristan or Brianna. “I’m fine. Maybe once things settle here, I’ll come visit you.”

  “That sounds great. You’ll be amazed by what you can do in this cave.”

  “So I’ve heard. We’ll talk soon. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, cuz. Take care.”

  “Bye.” She placed the phone on the bedside table, and changed into new clothes, never wanting to see the same pair of jeans and shirt again. In a white tank-top and floor-length floral skirt, she tied her waist with a brown leather belt, and inspected herself in the full-length mirror.

  “This won’t work.” She practiced what to say in her reflection, snagging her brush and combing out the knots. “You and I share the same marks. Who cares? We hate each other. Let’s forget this whole mess.” Yes. That should drive the point home. She placed the brush on the table, and slipped into a pair of flat sandals.

  Muffled voices drifted from downstairs, and she made a slow descent to the kitchen.

  “How’s that gym of yours, Chayton?”

  Her father was home? And he hadn’t once come upstairs to see her. That stung more than the glass splinter.

  “Business is good, as usual.”

  Trust her parents to know all about him. They saw him as their trophy son in-law. Unlike them, he meant nothing to her.

  “You must be anxious for the tourname
nts?”

  “Now that Amber’s in town, I can talk with the tribe. We’re in for an interesting chain of events. “

  “Well, you have our support.”

  “Thanks, William.”

  She wended into the kitchen. Her mother washed potatoes and carrots by the sink with a fancy red flannelette apron tied around her slender waist. Her father perched on the kitchen stool, still in his business suit and tie. Chayton sat next to him, holding a chilled beer.

  “Ah, there she is.” Her father smiled.

  “Hi, Pa.” She sauntered past the granite-top island, bent over the counter and kissed her father’s cheek.

  “So, you finally decided to join us,” her mother said. The impatient tap of her foot echoed behind, matching the accusation in her tone. Her goading raked Amber’s nerves.

  Her father glowered, placing his beer on the coaster. “I hope you weren’t contemplating anymore ridiculous disappearances?”

  “No.” But boy, the idea sounded tempting. “I’ve been in my room, speaking with Brianna.” Paper napkins lay near the fruit basket, and she folded some, ignoring Chayton’s presence.

  “You should be talking to Chayton. I suggest you head outside for some privacy,” her mother reprimanded.

  “Well,” she seethed, bending the paper cloth so quick, it ripped. “I don’t mind discussing this here.”

  “I do,” Chayton said, capturing her attention. The set of his firm jaw warned not to cross him. He hopped off the seat and gestured with a wave of his hand toward the backdoor. “After you.”

  Other than boiling saucepans on the stove, and a ticking timer, the kitchen fell into silence. Amber thrust aside the stack of folded napkins, marched out onto the porch, and leaned into the swing-chair chain. A mix of pastel pink and yellow painted the sky. The afternoon warmth seeped beneath her clothes, and lavender from her father’s trees overpowered the air. An outdoor table sat on the mowed lawn, and a water-vacuum buzzed and swerved within the in-ground pool.

  Behind her, the sliding door clicked in place. She inhaled deep, and whirled. “Let’s cut to the chase. So, you settled the score and eradicated my witchcraft. I guess I deserved that after placing you under a spell, but the joke is over. Why don’t you restore my powers, and move on with your life?”