by Jenn Stark
“This is easier,” she murmured. “You’re too big otherwise for me to reach everything I want to reach.”
She leaned forward then, her hands lifting to his temples to feather back his hair, and Stefan momentarily lost his ability to breathe as her breasts swayed in front of his face. “What’s your plan here, princess? You’ve fulfilled what you set out to do already. I’ve already checked that box, in all manners of speaking.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said, and she moved up on her knees as she steadied herself on the bed, her hands to either side of his head. The movement separated their bodies—which should have been a good thing, but it forced him to look up into her eyes—which was a very bad thing. “I was compelling you.”
“Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. Trust me, I was made for sex.” In his mind, the sentence changed somewhat, dangerous but no less honest for all that danger. I was made for sex with you.
But Stefan didn’t give that subversive thought voice, and Cressida didn’t let him focus on it anyway.
“Then, given the full choice, would you have sex with me again?” she asked. She widened her stance and walked her knees back, her eyes locked on his. Then she settled her hips flush against him, his shaft compressed against her belly. The combination of heat and softness was almost Stefan’s undoing. “Would I know if you were doing it because you wanted to versus because you had to?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, willing himself to imprint her beautiful image in his mind, assuming he still had his mind after all this. “Would it matter?”
She rocked against him, almost experimentally, and he hissed out a sharp breath. “I think it would,” she said. “I’m trying very hard not to compel you in any way.”
“I’d say you were doing a good job of not compelling me right now.”
“But you don’t want me to touch you. You’re letting me, but you don’t want me to.”
“Want is maybe not the best…” Stefan’s words trailed off as Cressida lifted off him again. Despite himself, he instantly missed the contact. Before he could have time to process that loss, however, she slid down his legs, lifting one knee, then replacing it between his legs so that she was straddling his right thigh. Then she stroked her long, delicate fingers down the length of his shaft and took it into her hand.
“You want me to do this?” she asked, and he could feel the conflicting energies rising up from her, the natural compulsion due her as high priestess warring with an unnatural dampening force she was trying to effect on her own abilities. “How would I know?” she whispered.
She dropped her face to his shaft, and he felt the warm, raspy wetness of her tongue slide along his skin, his traitorous cock jerking in her hand. When she opened her mouth and slid it over the tip of his cock, he groaned, driving his head back into the pillows. She slid it back out, making a wet, sucking pop with her lips, and he nearly lost control right there.
He felt compelled, all right, but in point of fact… “I don’t think you’re forcing me to feel what I feel, princess,” he managed, but that was the best he could do. Because the truth of the matter was, she might be compelling him. Whether she wanted to or not, she might not be in control of how much she was forcing him to submit to her. “I’d like to believe that my body is reacting the way it is because there’s a beautiful naked woman on top of me, her hands all over me. But when that beautiful, naked woman is a witch and I’m a demon—that changes things. How much, I don’t know.”
“I agree.” She sighed, weighing his shaft in her hand, her other fingers reaching down to cup his ball sac. Stefan didn’t even try to stop his whimper. “I would want this to be of your choice, but I don’t know how to ensure that. There must be something in the sacred grimoire.”
Stefan snorted, trying to put together the last two brain cells he had left in the face of her untutored stroking. “I doubt quite seriously there is a prescription for ending a witch’s compulsion on a demon while he remains in her presence. That would be a one-way ticket to disaster.”
“Oh!” Cressida froze, her right hand still clasping his cock, her left mercifully dropping away from his balls before she fisted them too. Her eyes were wide, her face rapt, and her grip—ah, distracting.
“You’re wrong!” she said, completely oblivious to his reaction. “There’s something exactly like that—an old story dealing with an exorcism, no less. Or…” Her face blanked for a second, then darkened with renewed emotion. “Or at least there used to be. But if it’s there, we need to read it.”
And she scrambled off the bed, pulling the sheets with her.
Chapter Fourteen
“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” Cressida hissed into the phone, striding quickly down the hallway of Dahlia’s floor. Her captain wasn’t picking up her phone, however, and that was unusual. Not the most unusual thing about this night, but unusual.
Behind her, Stefan stalked with an almost lethal grace, letting her mutter without butting in. He hadn’t said much of anything, in fact, since they’d left her apartment. When she’d returned from the bathroom fully dressed, she’d been surprised to see him also dressed and waiting for her, his body apparently completely recovered from her touch, his manner once again easy, almost arrogant in its nonchalance.
Everything that he’d said to her was burned into her brain—especially the nature of his sin. She hadn’t missed the fact that his information on that score hadn’t been completely fleshed out. He’d apparently seduced a human, but from what she’d seen, he’d seduced a lot of humans. He could probably seduce a mannequin right out of a store window and not think twice about it. So what made his interaction with this particular human horrific enough that he must spend an eternity as a demon in punishment? Surely unrequited love wasn’t that unexpected among the angelic pantheon?
Unfortunately, she had other problems to solve at the moment. “What is the deal?” she growled into her phone as her call once more went nowhere, simply ending in the ether.
Finally, Stefan spoke. “Do you have a signal?” he offered up, and she turned around to snap at him—then checked her phone. She frowned.
“Why wouldn’t there be a signal?”
“Could be any number of reasons,” Stefan replied, shrugging. “Could be something completely unrelated to the coven, or it could be a security measure to jam all communications other than sanctioned lines.”
“I’m the high priestess. I’d like to think I’d have a sanctioned line.”
“Yeah, well, you’re dating a dickhead who’s the head of security. So, on balance…”
“I’m not dating—”
“Oh, my bad. You’re married to a dickhead. I’m pretty sure that makes things worse.”
“I’m also married to you,” Cressida couldn’t help but point out, her heart giving a little flip at the words, and Stefan grinned at her, positively wolfish.
“And we haven’t had anyone show up yet to cancel the honeymoon. So yeah, there’s probably jammed communications in the mix here somewhere. Heck, you could be the one doing it.”
“That’s insane.” Cressida turned back before she got drawn into a shouting match. There was something about Stefan that made her throw all her reserve out the window and react on sheer instinct. Worse, when it came to him, her instincts were completely ridiculous. All she wanted to do was explore the way he made her feel, the energy that seemed to flow from him directly into her, igniting a power she’d always striven for but never quite reached.
Had she truly changed, and so quickly? Barely an hour had passed since the hellspawn had struck and Stefan had fried his tracking device, but Marcus should have been knocking down her door by now. If her own energy surge had blown up his communications console somehow…
Surely that was impossible.
But something else that Stefan had said remained in her mind, driving her forward to her captain’s quarters. He’d mentioned the danger of information about demons being shared in the grimoire
, specifically a spell that could break the compulsion between a witch and her charge. And Cressida had read something about a demon possessing a witch in the grimoire and needing to be exorcised…she was almost certain. It’d been ages ago, so she could be wrong. But if she was right, they could have the information they needed right at their fingertips.
Fortunately, she was by no means the only demon scholar in this building. Dahlia had also pored through the grimoire as part of her duties to Cressida. In part to bolster Cressida’s own knowledge of the rules and history of their coven, but also in part, Cressida suspected, to ensure that Dahlia was never surprised by any turn of events that might bring Cressida to harm. Dahlia believed she needed to know twice as much as Cressida did to protect Cressida half as well as Dahlia felt she should.
Only now, Dahlia was ignoring her. Or Cressida was being blocked, which irritated her far more.
She stalked up to Dahlia’s door, lifting her hand to pound.
“It’s late,” Stefan said, his words barely a murmur in the hushed hallway. “Even if she isn’t asleep and can hear you raise the alarm, she isn’t the only witch on this floor. Do you really want to wake up—”
The door swung open before them, and her captain stood there, fully dressed, her eyes alert, her expression concerned. She flicked a glance briefly to Stefan, then stared at Cressida. “What is it?” Dahlia asked. “What’s wrong?”
Not waiting for Cressida to respond, Dahlia stood back and ushered them both inside. Cressida glanced around her captain’s apartment. It was similar in layout to hers, though not as lushly decorated. It was also empty.
“Where’s the exorcist?” she demanded.
“Freelance exorcist, technically,” Stefan drawled. “That’s an important distinction.”
“The exorcist?” Dahlia repeated, her tone only slightly startled. “Safe in his rooms. I was checking the feeds as you approached, which is how I saw you on this floor.”
“So you had no interruption in your feeds?”
Dahlia frowned. “There was a blip about, oh, I don’t know, an hour ago, but then nothing. But I’m on my own network.” She gestured to the console station set up on the dining room table, another difference between their two apartments.
Stefan blew out a long whistle as he looked at all the screens that showed various consorts in their rooms. “This is totally illegal, I have to think. If you ever decide to stream Bachelor: Witchgrooms, though, you are going to make bank.”
“It’s for their protection,” Dahlia informed him crisply. “They know they’re being watched.”
“Even Jim?”
“Especially Jim,” Dahlia said, with a dark edge that made Cressida glance at her. Her captain’s energy regarding the exorcist had been off from the beginning, and she didn’t fully know why. Dahlia had never so much as glanced in the direction of any man before—or woman, for that matter. What was it about the human that was rattling her so much?
Either way, this was no time to be delicate. “Show Jim Granger to me,” she said crisply, and Dahlia obligingly turned to the screens. She gestured to the one at the top corner.
“He’s there. Sitting in prayer—or standing in prayer, or kneeling in prayer, the way he’s been since we first ushered him into the room. He’s not eaten, and he’s barely drunk anything but the bottled water we provided after thoroughly checking the seals.”
“It’s always the seventh seal that’ll get you,” Stefan cracked.
Cressida narrowed her eyes. “He knows he’s being watched, as you said.”
“He does. He checked the phone, his cell phone, all the drawers. He identified the location of the bugs and devices. He carried his cross around from room to room like he either planned to bless the space or bludgeon anyone standing behind the doors. Then he started praying.”
“And that bothers you?” Cressida asked. “Why?”
“It bothers me because he is no longer a priest, and the psychic energy we’re charting in his room is pegging the meter.” She gestured to another screen filled with jittering waves of color. “I suspect his prayer is actually a deep psychic meditation, but I don’t know for what. We’re picking up psychic energy for the demons too, but that’s to be expected. Granger’s isn’t.”
“Well, he’s got to do something besides sharpen his spike,” Stefan put in. Both women ignored him.
“Where are the records of the Scepter Coven, including the grimoire?” Cressida asked. “You have the files locally?”
“Of course,” Dahlia said without hesitation. She moved to another laptop and swiped it on. “Saved to my personal drive. And, huh. It looks like you’re right. This whole section of the complex has gone dark, communicationswise. Marcus must be losing his mind.”
“Told you,” Stefan observed mildly as Cressida scowled at Dahlia.
“He didn’t send up an alarm?”
“If he did, I haven’t gotten it. But I’m on a closed network, and like I said, nothing’s been damaged here. The world could have blown up and I wouldn’t know it. I can ping him?”
“No,” Cressida said hurriedly, her mind racing. The hellspawn had shown up after she and Stefan had been left alone long enough for him to wind her up, but before his torque had apparently shorted out. Marcus should have heard the commotion, should have investigated. That he hadn’t…
She thought about the purple-red flame that had flowed across her skin. Could Stefan be right? Was she capable of frying circuits without realizing it?
“Is Marcus monitoring your apartments too?”
Dahlia hesitated. “After a fashion. Marcus is within his bounds to keep tabs on anyone in the coven but you, but that doesn’t mean I have to give him everything he wants simply because he wants it.”
“Words to live by, I always say,” Stefan said drolly.
Cressida literally felt her temper fray, and Dahlia clearly sensed it as well, because she hurried to explain. “I created a loop as soon as I arrived, and set it into the security camera. Whenever I consider it reasonable for me to not be in the meeting rooms, I’m not. Whenever it’s reasonable for me to be asleep in my bed, I’m asleep in my bed. Marcus could discover the insertion of the video easily enough, but I’m not his focus. He’s merely trying to do his job. And I’m willing to let him do that job, as long as I can maintain my own level of privacy.”
“So he can’t see us?” Cressida asked.
“No. Right now, to all appearances, I’m in my bed, and no one is in the main room.”
“But we were on candid camera in the hallway,” Stefan pointed out. “Surely you don’t have that one rigged too—you do!” he answered his own question with a gleeful chuckle as Dahlia glanced at him. “I like you more and more, El Capitan.”
Cressida tapped her lips. “I need us to speak with Jim Granger, privately, if possible, and to allow him to review a section of the sacred grimoire to get his take on the information from an exorcist’s perspective. Is that something you can arrange?”
Dahlia hesitated. “I can’t countenance that. The grimoire is—”
“Dahlia,” Cressida snapped. “I was taught the same lessons you were. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Her captain sighed, then checked her cameras. “No,” she said at last. “The exorcist is awake, but Marcus has eyes on him, and you can bet he’s watching those feeds—if he’s awake. Which, even if he’s not, there’s the playback. He’ll see.”
Stefan snorted. “Good thing you trust this guy. He’s got an awful lot of authority.”
“Marcus will do whatever it takes to protect the coven—and to protect Cressida.” Dahlia’s voice was absolute, almost startling in its certainty, and Cressida wondered if she sounded that way as well when she spoke of the man. Probably. “He’s always been committed to both.”
“What a champ,” Stefan put in, narrowing his eyes at the man on Dahlia’s screen. As she’d described, he looked absolutely like a man lost in his p
rayers, bent over his sacred, lethal cross. “What story did the exorcist give you about why he was rocking out at Storm Court?”
Cressida watched him too. “He said he was in the neighborhood and heard the call to adventure, and couldn’t resist it. How much does he know about demons, do you wonder?”
She directed the question to Dahlia, but it was Stefan who answered. “Well, gee, I don’t know,” he said. “He specializes in how to get demons out of humans. It seems likely he would’ve done a fair amount of study on the nature of being a demon along the way. He strikes me as being thorough like that.”
“Can you transport yourself into his room?” Cressida turned and asked him. “The way you showed up outside my doors? I know you didn’t take the elevator.”
“I’m hurt,” Stefan said, laying a hand on his chest. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”
“What’s your plan?” Dahlia asked Cressida.
“We have to believe Marcus is watching us. We need to get inside Granger’s room, but if he suddenly gets access to his feed again, we need it to look like it’s reasonable for us to be there and that we have it under control. If Stefan suddenly appeared in the center of the exorcist’s sitting room and we entered a few minutes later, it’s possible that Marcus won’t interrupt us at all. It would also be reasonable for us to be tracking them both. He has to know that you have a setup in here as well.”
“Of course,” Dahlia said. “He’s the head of security.”
“Another important side note to all this,” Stefan said, holding up a hand. “Cressida’s not the only one with spiffy new superpowers here—”
“What spiffy new superpowers?” Dahlia interjected, but Cressida waved her off.
“I can be a one-man, on-demand jamming session too. If that’s the kind of party you need.” He winked. “And I can actually do it on purpose, not just out of instinct.”