My Dangerous Pleasure

by Carolyn Jewel

  “It’s him,” Iskander said.

  “Using her to get to you.” Harsh took the words right out of his mouth.

  Paisley walked in, her shoes raising tiny clouds of gray dust, and looked with shock at the devastation. The dust that hadn’t yet lost its magic gravitated toward her, though she was oblivious to the meaning of the undulations in the ashy grit that was in every corner and crack. He sighed. There went any hope this was a warning directed at him. The still-animated particles were like iron filings, and she was a magnet. No question Paisley was the target. The message blurred, but she saw the words.

  Her throat worked. “Oh my goodness.”

  Iskander watched her in the gray-tinted light. She was trying not to cry.

  Damn.

  If this was Kessler’s work, they might all be in trouble. Including him. But especially her. She wasn’t equipped to deal with a mage of any ability, especially not one like Kessler. Iskander walked into the center of the room, avoiding the message. The ceiling light fixture was gone, but dust trickled from the remnants of the electrical fittings. He’d already been inside long enough for a layer of gritty ash to cover him. Not good. The shit made him jumpy. He waited until he had Paisley’s attention; then he put his hands on his hips and said, “This is going to cost me a fortune to fix.”

  Her eyes got big. Big, gorgeous hazel eyes filling with tears. Ever since he’d been severed from his blood-twin, he couldn’t take it when a woman cried. He always felt like he personally had done something to cause the tears. Even when he knew he hadn’t. That just wasn’t right, a woman crying. Not that it happened much. Women seemed to like him. A lot. Usually he made them laugh or, best of all, scream his name while they held on tight.

  She walked past him to the bedroom. He stayed where he was. At least he’d got her thinking about something else. He knew what she was going to see in there: dust. Pretty soon she was going to realize that everything she owned or had ever touched had been destroyed. This hadn’t been a trivial bit of magic. Whoever the mage was, Rasmus Kessler or someone else, he had some powerful magic at his command. Kind of limited the suspects to a handful.

  Harsh nodded at the floor. The particles were being pulled in the direction of the bedroom now, so the message was all but unreadable. He pushed the toe of his leather boot through the dust. “I think we can assume whoever did this is upset.”

  “No kidding,” Iskander said in a low voice.

  “What have you been up to while I was gone?”

  He laughed. “A little of this. A little of that.”

  “Body count?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked toward the bedroom door to make sure Paisley wasn’t close enough to overhear. “Twenty or thirty, I think.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Nikodemus isn’t screwing around.”

  Paisley wandered back to the living room, passing through what was left of the message. He wondered if she’d done it deliberately. Whatever the answer, she stopped in the middle of the room, phone clutched in one hand, the strap of her purse in the other. Her eyes were wide and practically all pupil. The movement of the dust toward her accelerated.

  “I know who did this,” she said.

  “You do?” Iskander said. He couldn’t help noticing she was hot. Really pretty, and with a body to bring a man, or a demon, to his knees.

  “His name is Rasmus Kessler.”

  Well, damn. He worked hard not to react. A glance at Harsh told him he was doing the same. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved to know the answer or worried that Kessler was responsible.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Iskander said. “This stuff can’t be good to breathe.”

  She blinked and headed for the door. “I’m not letting him get away with this.”

  Out on the landing, he and Harsh stood there with no choice but to let her make the phone call. She was a normal human. Or mostly so. You could never be sure with humans and even less with her, considering fucking Rasmus Kessler was after her. The littlest thing could spark up magic in a vanilla human. Like a mage touching you with enough power to blister skin. Or taking a taste of blood from a fiend. Or both.

  While they waited for the police, Iskander made a few calls of his own, walking a ways away so he could speak in confidence. Harsh was on the phone, too. The cops and the fire department came quickly. They stomped around the apartment, kicked up dust that was in the process of fading away, looked at IDs, took names and statements, and made fools of themselves trying to impress an oblivious Paisley.

  Iskander watched the interaction and came to the conclusion that while his tenant, Ms. Paisley Nichols, was not unaware that she was hot, she was not stuck-up about it. She treated all the cops with the same polite respect. She wasn’t using her looks or their reaction to her to get special treatment beyond what was going to naturally happen for a woman like her.

  Someone gave him a card with a number he could call to get a copy of the police report for his insurance. One of the cops gave Paisley a card to contact the Red Cross in case she didn’t have a place to stay. Iskander overheard him give her his personal cell number. Kind of annoyed him, the cop hitting on her like that.

  A bit later, Paisley sat on the lower steps of the rental unit. Her eyes had lost some of the deer-in-the-headlights look. Two uniformed cops and one of the firefighters stood near her. There was another guy in a cheap suit taking notes while she told them about how Kessler was stalking her. Her voice broke, but she recovered quickly. “We had coffee once. It wasn’t a date. We were never romantically involved, but he won’t leave me alone. He’s out of his mind and making my life a nightmare.”

  The guy in the cheap suit asked a question, and she answered, and Iskander figured things were about to get even more tedious. Except something about the guy bothered him. He had short hair. Not alarming considering lots of cops had short hair.

  Only, a mage commonly shaved the heads of the demonkind he enslaved, and Kessler certainly followed the practice. The cop was also talking to her boobs, and Iskander could tell from her closed-off expression that she didn’t appreciate him acting like she didn’t have a head. The pushy guy in the suit kept getting closer and closer to Paisley and edging out the cops in uniform.

  Harsh got off the phone and walked to Iskander. They stood there, watching until Iskander said, “That asshole’s going to hit on her.”

  “She’s an attractive woman.”

  “Yeah. But that’s totally not cool, hitting on her when she’s all worked up.” Iskander kept watching the man. He was tall and fit and looked barely old enough to have gotten off street patrol. Iskander lowered some of his blocks and took in the psychic state of the humans around him, which he didn’t like to do. He didn’t have as much experience with humans as most kin of his years. As far as he could tell, there was nothing abnormal. Nothing from the guy in the cheap suit but pure vanilla. The cops upstairs were finishing their investigation. Hopefully this would be over soon.

  “Nikodemus would like for you to continue keeping an eye on the situation for him.”

  He gave Harsh a look. “No kidding.”

  They were quiet for a moment. “It was a formal request, Iskander. She’s to be kept safe until we know more about whether the situation warrants bringing in Durian or Gray.”

  That got his attention, and not in a good way. Durian and his mostly human partner, Gray, both worked as assassins for Nikodemus. “He’s going to sanction a hit on a human?”

  “Or Kessler.”

  If Kessler got taken out, that would free his magehelds. Including Fen. He could tell from Harsh’s too-controlled expression that he was thinking the same thing.

  “She betrayed us, Harsh. For a goddamned mage.” The blood bond he’d had with Fen meant that he knew, as Harsh did not and never could, that Fen hadn’t been forced. She was never enslaved the way other magehelds were. She’d gone willingly to Kessler. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. Jesus, he hated himself for thinking f
or even a minute that he might actually go back to Fen if she got free of Kessler.

  “I know,” Harsh said.

  “He can’t hit Kessler.” The fallout from a hit like that would be beyond nasty. Other mages. Other warlords. The whole damn peaceful coexistence thing would go kaboom.

  “He could if we have proof he’s targeting vanilla humans.” Harsh glanced over at Paisley. “He wants to wait for Kessler to come after her again.”

  “I’m supposed to let her get killed? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No. I’m saying if Kessler comes after her again and there’s solid, incontrovertible proof he’s moving on her, then we can act.”

  “Her word’s not good enough?” He knew it wasn’t. She was human. None of the other warlords or mages were going to take the word of a human in a matter like this. She didn’t know the first thing about magic. The only thing she could talk about was Rasmus harassing her, and that wasn’t the crime Nikodemus was going to have to prove. He stared at Paisley and the cop interviewing her. “Tell Nikodemus if anybody gets to kill that mage, it’s me.”

  “Better that it’s sanctioned.” Harsh still had his phone in his hand and was texting while he talked. “Let Gray or Durian do what’s needed. Or Leonidas, if Nikodemus thinks he can be trusted.” Leonidas was a mage who’d recently sworn fealty to Nikodemus. There might be less trouble if another mage took out Kessler. “And that’s only if there’s proof.”

  Meanwhile, Paisley stalked away from the cop in the suit. The cop followed her.

  “I know you’re upset, Ms. Nichols,” the cop was saying.

  What the hell was that guy’s problem? Iskander cocked his chin in the direction of the cop still getting his jollies staring at Paisley’s chest. “I don’t like that one.”

  The cop waved off the uniforms. “I can take it from here.” The two uniforms shrugged and moved away. The guy in the suit put a hand to Paisley’s elbow and guided her closer to the house and farther away from the others.

  Iskander watched the suit take her to the corner of his patio, near the covered hot tub. He listened to stupid questions about what she’d done during the day and afternoon and what she’d noticed before she went into the apartment. Nothing she hadn’t been over already. The cop kept his notebook and pen out, but he wasn’t writing anything. He asked questions about her personal relationship with Rasmus that got her agitated. Iskander heard the asshole ask her about the last time she had sex with Kessler.

  She went totally stiff. “That,” he heard her say in a tightly controlled voice, “is completely out of line.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Are you saying that if I have sex with someone, whatever happens after that is my fault?” She pointed to her apartment. “That he’s justified in doing something like that? I never had an intimate relationship with Rasmus Kessler, but it wouldn’t matter if I had.” She took a step toward him, shoulders tense, her finger jabbing the air like a bayonet. Iskander didn’t blame her for being pissed off. “His attentions to me are not welcome. I have made that clear to him on many occasions, and he won’t leave me alone. That’s all I want. For him to just leave me alone.”

  The suit dropped his notebook into his pocket and touched her, a hand to her shoulder, not a big deal, but not standard cop behavior, either. Paisley backed way and the suit moved with her. This time he touched her temple.

  Two seconds later, Paisley went into panic mode and the truth about what he was seeing hit him. The guy in the suit was a mageheld, and he was trying to take possession of Paisley’s will.

  CHAPTER 5

  Iskander headed for Paisley and the mageheld trying to control her. He pulled hard on his magic. If there were sensitive latents among the cops and firefighters still hanging around, too damned bad. He wasn’t letting this continue.

  Paisley, however, wasn’t going down without a fight. The mageheld was having trouble with the indwell, which made sense because she was a resistant. Before he closed the distance to her, she lashed out at the cop when he put one of his hands someplace rude. She drove the heel of her palm into his chin. The mageheld’s head snapped back.

  From behind, Iskander grabbed the fake cop’s forehead. With one hand, he yanked back to make sure the mageheld’s physical and visual contact with Paisley was broken and stayed that way, and then released all his pulled magic into the fiend’s head. The free kin couldn’t feel a mageheld’s magic, so he had to work blind to what this one was doing. The guy dropped like a stone, or would have if Iskander weren’t holding him up. The suit was immobilized physically and psychically from the force of the magical burn. Paisley reeled, the backs of her legs hitting the stone ledge around the hot tub. Her eyes locked with his.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her eyes flashed with anger. “I can’t imagine what got into him.”

  Iskander kept the mageheld on his feet and spun him around. With one hand clutching the guy’s shirt, he put a finger to the mageheld’s forehead. One thing he’d learned since he’d been severed from Fen was that there weren’t rules about psychic connections with his own kind, just customs about what was polite between the kin. Those customs didn’t count with a mageheld. He couldn’t feel the mageheld’s magic, but Iskander had the guy’s head locked down so tight his brains were going to start boiling in about thirty seconds. “Who sent you?”

  The mageheld’s eyes fluttered open. He shook his head. “Not permitted to tell.”

  Damn. It would have been nice to get the proof they needed, but he hadn’t really expected the mage would have forgotten to cover his tracks in case things didn’t work out with the indwell. Iskander grabbed two handfuls of the guy’s jacket and yanked him off his feet, but then got a hold of his fury. The mageheld wasn’t responsible for the attack. He was nothing but a slave who had to do whatever his mage ordered. He lowered the mageheld until his feet were on the ground.

  “Listen up.” He kept his voice low. “Nikodemus’s witch Carson. Xia and Alexandrine. Remember those names. Find them, and they’ll sever you. Give you back your freedom.”

  He nodded, but his color was getting chalky and his eyes were starting to bleed.

  “Still listening? Good. If you get severed, you come find me and start talking. That’s my reward for letting you live today. I want it all. Every goddamned detail.”

  The mageheld blinked, which smeared blood over his eyes. He let out a pathetic gurgle. Iskander released his psychic hold before it was too late and his brains really did boil.

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  The mageheld pressed his first three fingers to his forehead and bowed. Blood dripped down his nose. He turned and walked away. Magehelds might be enslaved to their mages, but they weren’t stupid. Whenever they could, they did exactly what they were ordered, to the letter, and to hell with what the mage intended. Iskander was sure the mageheld would do whatever it took to be in a position to get himself severed by one of the people he’d just listed. Sooner or later.

  He looked up and found Paisley staring at him, eyes wide.

  “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know.” She sat down hard on the ledge of his hot tub, looking up at him. “Oh my Lord,” she whispered. Her long, dark red ponytail hung over her shoulder.

  “Bad day, huh?”

  “You said it.” She stood up and Iskander tried not to enjoy the view of her legs. He made sure to keep his attention on her face. She looked around, forlorn.

  They were alone. The streetlamps were just starting to go out. The cops and firefighters were gone, along with the curious neighbors. So was Harsh. The door to her apartment gaped open, and from where they stood, they could see her groceries on the steps. He shoved his hands in his front pockets. He was so busy trying not to stare at her chest that he inadvertently picked up a bucket-load of her emotions. Being resistant meant it was difficult, but not impossible, for a demon to pick up on her psychic state. He didn’t have to try hard to get a sense of her fear. Denial. Resignation. A bit of helplessnes
s overcome by determination. He pushed a bit, and just like that, he got cut off.

  Paisley didn’t seem to know she’d done anything. She dug her phone out of her purse and opened it, all business now. She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and hit some buttons. He took the phone from her.

  She looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My assistant baker.”

  “What for?”

  “I have private orders to fill. I’m hoping she’ll help me out. And let me crash at her place for the night.”

  That couldn’t happen. “You’re staying with me. I have four bedrooms, two and half baths, and I only use one of each. There’s room in my kitchen for your groceries. Hell, you can even bake there.”

  She chewed on her lower lip and half glared at him, probably because she was too nice to do any worse. Without going into her head, Iskander didn’t have any idea what she was seeing when she looked at him. Some women didn’t like his tats. Then again, some did. The women he ended up taking to bed weren’t sweet, polite women like his tenant. The women he fucked loved his tats. A lot.

  He liked a little wild in his partners, and if Paisley Nichols had ever been wild, he’d eat his shorts. He said, “You’re thinking way too hard.”

  “I hardly know you.”

  “I’m your landlord. You’ve been writing me checks for months.” He laughed. “Cupcake, if I was a serial killer, I’d have picked you off ages ago. And if you’re one, no offense, but I think I can take you down first.” He grinned because he just now thought of a major plus to his invitation. “We,” he said, “are going to be friends with benefits.”

  Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Benefit for you—a place to stay and free run of the kitchen. Benefit for me—you bake extra.”

  She blinked a few times. Her lashes were dark red, too. “That’s kind of you to offer.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  She had cheekbones. A strong face, if you just looked at her without thinking about getting her naked and flat on her back. Sure, she looked sweet and talked sweet, but there was more at home upstairs than being a nice girl. “Just for the night.” She waved a hand. “Day. Whatever.”