My Dangerous Pleasure

by Carolyn Jewel

  She handed over her cell. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll make us some dinner. Go make your calls.”

  He went into the living room and set up the phone to connect to his e-mail. While the messages downloaded, he dialed his voice mail. He had twenty messages, three more than the last time he checked, and disconnected without listening to any of them. If Durian came after them here, Iskander figured his chances of taking down the assassin were fifty-fifty at best. He called Nikodemus.

  Nikodemus answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Iskander.”

  “Talk to me.”

  The tension in his chest eased. If Nikodemus had sent Durian or Gray to track them down, he’d have told him so up front. He sat on the couch and talked for a long time, keeping his voice low. He told Nikodemus what had happened at Café deMonde, about Fen showing up, what he saw Paisley do to the witch, and what he’d done to get her out of there.

  “The witch in question,” Nikodemus said slowly when Iskander stopped talking, “is plenty pissed off.”

  “I don’t think Paisley knew what she was doing. She was protecting herself.” His tension returned. He was telling Nikodemus the truth. But there were layers to the truth, and an oath of fealty tended not to flex with self-deception. He’d been sworn to Nikodemus for almost two years, and not once had his oath to the warlord ever been called into question. The tightness in his chest wasn’t pleasant. He didn’t like it. At all. But he wasn’t going to throw Paisley under the bus. He couldn’t, and that was a fact.

  Who’d have thought there was a third person he’d die for?

  “Did she really release the magic the way you said?” Nikodemus asked.

  “She did.”

  “You don’t have any doubt?”

  “No.”

  Nikodemus didn’t say anything for a bit. Iskander waited him out. Nikodemus wasn’t stupid. He understood the implications of someone who could do what Paisley had done. “I need to meet her.”

  “No.” The center of his chest contracted. It fucking hurt.

  “There’s not going to be a sanction.” Nikodemus was more his normal, brisk self now, and the pain in Iskander’s chest eased again. “The witch asked—don’t get me wrong. She wants Paisley dead. We talked and eventually she got around to saying she wouldn’t do anything about it.”

  “She was lying.”

  “No shit.” Nikodemus laughed.

  “How pissed off was she?”

  “Enough to cause me a lot of trouble.”

  “She killed a lot of us, Warlord. There were dozens, and they were all in agony.” Iskander waited out the silence.

  “Before I let you go,” Nikodemus said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I told her you were most likely to be at the farmhouse. I assume that’s where you are now.”

  “Yeah.” Throw the witch a bone by telling her where to find the people she wanted to off. As setups went, it was brilliant. Nikodemus knew exactly what he’d sent the witch to face.

  “So.” Amusement colored his words. “Pissed off witch headed your way.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Make sure nothing happens to that human of yours.” Even through the phone, the warlord’s imperative settled into Iskander’s bones. Nikodemus didn’t give orders like that often—the ones that obligated him to do what he was told. “Keep your girl under wraps until you hear otherwise, and keep her alive until I have a chance to meet her. When the witch finds you, do the needful. Harsh will take care of any cleanup.”

  Iskander smiled. He did his share of wet work for Nikodemus, but this was the first time the warlord hadn’t set limits on what he could do. No limits was good. “Got it.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” He paused. “This the best number to reach you?”

  “For now.”

  He stared at Paisley’s phone after Nikodemus disconnected. The tension of believing he would be forced to break his oath of fealty to the warlord was gone, and in its place was anticipation. He stayed where he was until the smells from the kitchen reminded him that he was hungry and that he owed Paisley some explanations.

  In the kitchen, he watched her cook. All her concentration was on the food. He set her phone on the counter. “What are you making?”

  “Chicken with blood oranges. Rice.” She glanced at him. “Chocolate soufflé for dessert. Almost done, if you want to set the table. Slice some of that bread, too.”

  “Sure.”

  It wasn’t long before they were sitting down to the best meal he’d had since the last time Paisley had cooked him dinner. He savored every bite. The farmhouse was quiet in a way the city never could be, and he was okay with sitting here with Paisley, eating great food and not saying much. There hadn’t been many women, none actually, who he was comfortable being around for long. He didn’t spend much time with women when one or both of them weren’t thinking about the sex to come or the sex they’d just had. He was good with women that way. But this… this went beyond his experience. He didn’t know much about women like Paisley.

  “Can we talk now?” she asked.

  With a sigh, he put down his fork. “The woman you did that thing to is a witch.”

  She picked up a slice of the sourdough bread he’d cut and separated the crust from the inside. “You mentioned that.”

  “We call them magekind. Witches and mages. Humans who can do magic. Some of them kill demons, because taking their magic in a certain way extends their lives. The bodies of the demons die, but the magic doesn’t, and we—Nikodemus and I—agree that’s the screaming you’ve been hearing. The part of those demons that’s still alive and trapped.”

  Her fingers pulled at the bread, rolling bits into tiny balls.

  “You took back the magic she stole, Paisley. Magic she murdered for. And now the demons you heard screaming aren’t suffering anymore.”

  She met his gaze steadily. That’s what he liked about her. She was calm until she had the facts even when the facts she had were turning her life upside down and inside out. “Demons?”

  “The kin. Demons. A kind of demon.”

  “Who’s we? You said ‘we call them magekind.’ ”

  “People like me.”

  “You mean the kin, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

  Iskander heard the sound of the motor before Paisley did. He held up a hand for silence. The car was still far from the house but was coming closer. The motor cut off, but he heard wheels crunching over gravel as the vehicle coasted down the driveway.

  He smiled.

  Game on.

  CHAPTER 16

  The inside of Paisley’s head got cold and the center of her chest thrummed. Everything seemed unreal—fleeing the city to avoid a possible assassination attempt, casually talking about magic and witches and, God forbid, demons. She must be crazy. But she was getting that strange feeling again, the one Iskander actually believed was real and that she felt when demons were nearby.

  “She’s here,” Iskander said. “The witch.” He picked up their dishes and took them to the dishwasher. “We should assume she’s not happy with you right now.”

  “She didn’t come alone,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “She’d bring magehelds for something like this.” He didn’t seem to be panicking about an angry witch, so she didn’t either.

  “Magehelds?”

  “Slaves. Demons who have to do whatever she tells them to do.” Something dark flitted through his eyes, and her stomach hollowed out because it was like a door opening on an Iskander she knew nothing about. “We call them magehelds, but they’re slaves.”

  “Then they’re not friends of yours.”

  He turned around after he loaded the dishwasher. He wasn’t panicked but he also wasn’t smiling. “A mageheld follows orders because he has no choice. Even if he’s told to kill all his friends and everyone he ever loved. So, no, her magehelds are not f
riends. If she gives them a kill order, you can bet they’ll do it.”

  Paisley sat on one of the kitchen chairs. “How do I know any of this is true or that you’re not just humoring me? Telling lies so the crazy lady doesn’t go off the deep end? Because I have to tell you, all this is a little hard to take.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “I’m not humoring you.”

  “Everything that’s happened since my apartment got wrecked pretty much defines insane.” Her stomach curled into one huge knot. “I’m starting to believe in my insanity. How crazy is that?”

  He glanced at her phone and held out his hand. Something tugged at her chest and then the phone wasn’t on the counter anymore. Iskander was holding it. “Okay if I keep this for now?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re doing fine,” Iskander said.

  “If you say so.”

  He gave her a quick grin. “I do say so.” He put her phone in his pocket. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.” When he came back, he had a gun in one hand. He held it shoulder height, barrel to the ceiling. “Effective against humans, not so much against us. Don’t worry if you don’t know how to use this. I’ll teach you enough to fake it.”

  Paisley’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it loaded?”

  “Yes. So be careful—”

  She took the weapon from him. “A SIG SAUER P232. Sweet.” She flicked off the safety and moved the slide to chamber a round. She held out her other hand. “Spare magazine?”

  Without a word, Iskander handed her two.

  “Thanks.” She stuck them in her back pocket.

  “They’re hollow points. That means—”

  “The bullet makes a big mess inside. I know.” She looked away from the gun and found Iskander watching her. “What does it do to witches?”

  “They’re human, so it depends on your aim.”

  “I’m a Georgia girl and my adopted dad was a cop.” She flipped the safety back on. “Up until he left my mother, he took me target shooting and hunting all the time. When I was fourteen, he got me a gun like this. My little sister was jealous, bless her heart.” She lifted the gun and familiarized herself with the weight and how it fit in her hand, then took a practice aim at the door so she’d know how the sights worked for her. After that, she dropped her arm and looked back at Iskander. “Best birthday ever.”

  He blinked. “Marry me, Paisley.”

  She grinned at him. “You’re only saying that because weapons turn you on.” She tipped her head to one side. “If I shoot the witch, what happens?”

  “Dead is dead for the magekind.” His smile made her feel like everything would be all right.

  “You got anything for my ears? If I fire this thing inside, I’ll go deaf.”

  “No one here ever needed them.” The kin, she surmised from that, weren’t affected by loud noises the way humans were. “If you have to shoot inside,” he said, “I’ll try to fix you afterward, okay?”

  She shrugged. “Better deaf than dead.”

  Ka-thunk.

  The sound came from overhead. The roof. Not loud, but loud enough. The vibration in her chest deepened. She clicked off the safety again.

  “You feeling anything yet?” he asked.

  She touched her chest. “Here. But I don’t know what it means.” Her heart was going a mile a minute. She knew her way around a gun, and the P232 was a great weapon, but that didn’t mean she wanted to shoot anyone, witch or mageheld. On the other hand, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “If it’s like what you feel when you know I’m around, then it’s magehelds.”

  She thought about that. “Why? You’re not a mageheld. Are you?”

  “No. The free kin can’t feel a mageheld the way we can each other.”

  She touched her fingertips to her breastbone and wondered if she was going to have some kind of attack. The speed of the vibration increased. “They’re close.”

  One eyebrow arched. “How many, can you tell?”

  “Three? I think. Maybe four?”

  “No problem.” He smiled. She could swear the tattoos on his face deepened in color. “If you shoot one of the magehelds, you’re not going to kill him unless you get really lucky. Those hollow points will knock him on his ass for a bit, but don’t take your eyes off him if he goes down. He might look dead, but he probably won’t be. We heal from some pretty horrific stuff.”

  “Four of them,” she said. “I think there’s four.”

  His grin was back, and Paisley found that unsettling since if she was right, they were seriously outnumbered. “Four’s no problem as long as you don’t shoot me by accident.”

  She made sure the two spare magazines would slide easily out of her back pocket. If she had to reload, she didn’t want to waste even a second. “It’s dark out there, and I’m out of practice.”

  His smile flashed. “The witch. She’s going to want you to put back what you took.”

  “No way,” she said. “Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t.”

  “She’s looking for payback. That means she’ll probably send one of her magehelds up the front steps to see if we’re dumb enough to let him in. He’ll have some bullshit story to distract you while the others sneak in looking to take me down.” Iskander stood with his head cocked, like he was listening to something only he could hear. She didn’t hear anything.

  “What if it’s not her?”

  He snorted. “It is. I recognize the magic.” His eyes flickered with more colors than were possible, all in shades of blue. “Keep your hands on that gun. Fire the minute you even suspect things are going south. Whichever one they send to the door, he’ll be cautious and worried about you using magic. Keep him talking as long as you can. If he tries to get in, don’t wait to see if he makes it past the proofing—that’s the magic that keeps the bad guys out.”

  “Your professional security?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Outside.”

  Outside, where the odds were four to one. “Shouldn’t you take the gun, then?”

  “Don’t need it.” Iskander put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “This is going to work out. I promise.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He bent and kissed her on the forehead. “I got your back, cupcake.”

  He left her with the P232 in one hand, her heart in her mouth, and her eyes glued to the door thinking of Iskander out there somewhere with a witch and at least four magehelds after him. She sat on a chair from the living room that she turned around to face the front door. She held the P232 on her lap while she waited. She was able to separate the familiar resonance of Iskander from the others—the magehelds he said were the witch’s slaves. Maybe five minutes passed during which not much happened. Then the vibration in her chest got worse. She picked up the gun.

  Outside the house, footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway.

  She listened to someone walk up the steps. Slowly. She aimed the gun at the door. Whoever was out there knocked on the door. She was supposed to keep him occupied. She had to work up some spit before she croaked, “Who is it?”

  “Hi there.” The porch light created a human-shaped shadow through the curtained windowpanes. “I’m Ethan Leroy, from Cupertino? My wife and I are going wine tasting tomorrow. We’re supposed to be staying in Sonoma, but I took a wrong turn. Can you tell me how to get back to the freeway?”

  “Sorry. I have no idea.” Which happened to be true.

  “My wife’s waiting in the car, and she’s going to rip me a new one if I come back without directions. Have you got a computer? Can you MapQuest it or something for me? I can give you the address where we’re staying.” When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “I’ll pay you twenty bucks. We’re lost. Come on. Have a heart, lady.”

  How long was it going to take Iskander to do whatever it was he intended to do? “Sorry. No computer.” One of the presences vibrating through her winked out. Just gone. She
kept the P232 trained on the door.

  “What about a paper map?” He sounded human, and his story was a good one. If she hadn’t known different, she’d probably have opened the door. “Do you have a paper map?”

  “No, sir, I do not.” She heard a sigh from the other side of the door. The porch creaked when he shifted his weight.

  “What about your friend? Does he know which way to the freeway?”

  She left her chair and walked toward the door, keeping to the side so the man couldn’t see her through the door’s glass panes. If he tried to get in, she wanted to be close enough that she wouldn’t miss her shot. “What friend would that be?”

  “The one who knows the way to the freeway.” He had just the right amount of wheedling frustration in his voice. “I know he’s around. Could you just ask him? My wife is going to be so mad at me for this.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I can’t open the door.”

  A note of anger entered his voice. “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  There was a moment of silence. Another point of her awareness of the magehelds winked out, not softly like the last time but with a roll through her head and chest that hurt. That meant Iskander had eliminated another one of the creatures that were after them. The demon on the other side of the door sucked in a sharp breath. “Bitch. What the fuck did you just do?”

  “Go away or I’ll sic the dog on you.”

  “There’s no dog here.”

  “Fine.” She raised the gun to eye level and lined up the notch and ball with the dark mass that was the demon’s torso seen through the window panes. She breathed in the smell of gun oil, and all those Georgia afternoons came back. Without thinking, her body settled into a right-foot forward stance. “Go away, or I’ll shoot you through the door.”

  Someone else came up the steps. “What the hell happened to the others?” the first guy said.

  “I don’t know.” This one’s voice was low and thready. “They’re just fucking gone.”

  One of them reached for the doorknob. It rattled.