Roddy stood up and made a big production of clearing his throat. “I would like to propose a toast…to the world’s best ‘acting-boss’—!”
“Here, here!” Patricia chimed in, raising her glass.
“To the up and coming Lioness of Wall Street—”
Moriah felt a blush heating her cheeks as diners at the near by tables stopped to glance their way. “Oh, sit down, Roddy, you’re embarrassing me!”
“I’m not finished.” Roddy ignored her frantic signals, eyes dancing behind his thick lenses. A huge grin on his face, he flourished his glass again. “To the woman who has lifted us out of the muck and mire of Jonathans, Athencrombie and Ath—”
His words faded from Moriah’s consciousness as a sudden flush of warmth raced along her back. A wash of power brushed against her bare skin, leaving a wake of tingling sparks dancing beneath her flesh. Too late, her inner alarms sounded, warning her of imminent danger.
He was here.
Her hands shook as she lowered her wine glass and shrank back in her chair, her breath trapped in her throat. Like prey, she hunkered down, becoming as small, as still as possible. Please, Lady…grant that I evade this relentless threat. Deflect this magickal seeking.
The Lady didn’t deign to answer and she dared not invoke the Lord—for his was the avatar pledged to claim her. With only six days to go, she had run out of time.
The weight of his all-seeing gaze fell on her like a physical touch, driven by his almost immeasurable level of magick. It pinned her to her seat, securing her in place with a ruthless singleness of purpose she had known only once before.
She shuddered, wanting to scream her denial to the skies as his power washed over her, plucking at her nipples until they beaded, stabbing stiffly against the lace of her bra. Between her trembling thighs, phantom fingers played her clit, clamping tightly about the sensitive bit of flesh. Pulsing strongly in acknowledgement, the little button swelled and stiffened in recognition. An invisible hand palmed her swollen mound, two fingers roughly invading her tight channel while formless lips tugged hard on her turgid nipples, taking psychic possession.
Cream dampened her panties, slicking the heated skin of her inner thighs. Her neck and spine arched as lightning bolts of lust slammed into her, igniting her long-dormant passions.
Betrayed by her own body, she moaned and twisted. Need blossomed inside her, not hers alone, but his, amplifying and augmenting the inferno of desire until it burned her flesh from the inside out, until she came in a grinding rush, a broken cry winging from her parched lips.
Sweat beaded her cooling brow, as she lay slumped against the back of her chair, too embarrassed by her loss of control to lift her eyes and meet her friends’ horrified expressions.
“Moriah, for the Lady’s sake, tell me what’s wrong!” The pain and worry in Patricia’s agonized cry pierced her apathy where nothing else might.
Her eyes opened in time to see the imposing form of a tall, devilishly handsome Warlock halt before her table and say, “Nothing is wrong.”
Elias Wylder. The Warlock she had run from almost a year ago. He gazed down at her, black eyes filled with heated sensuality, waiting for her to meet his eyes. Drawn against her will, she tilted her head and locked glances.
His mouth twist in a moue of triumph, and she knew he read the depth of her recent erotic surrender in her unsteady glare. The sinfully shaped lips that had always intrigued her parted. “For the first time in too long a time, everything is very much right.”
The purely masculine satisfaction drenching his tone put her back up and she straightened under his dark, possessive gaze, anger roiling in her chest as her eyes narrowed on his imposing figure. “I had one nerve left, Wylder…until you snapped it.”
His eyes snapping with flickering bolts of power, he raised a hand, forestalling her tirade. “Morven Maganistus, what have you done with my magick?”
Chapter Seven
Thursday, October 28, 9:30 p.m. (Northwestern Division time)
Chaos erupted in the five-star restaurant. The two police he’d left back at his table had made their way over to where all the commotion reigned. A beautiful, full-figured woman with luxurious hip-length russet hair and a tall, black man wearing thick glasses were screaming questions in his face, at the same time trying to block his access to his prey.
How easily he ignored the tumult and noise of the world while gazing into the silvery gray eyes of his mate. Even the question of what she had done with his magick could wait while he filled his eyes and senses with his first sight of the woman he had searched for so diligently.
Wylder sighed, feeling his year-long fears and tensions easing, draining from his tight muscles and clenched belly. The only tightness remaining in him throbbed heavily at his groin and he almost palmed his cock, glorying in the deep seated knowledge he would soon be sinking that stiff length deep within Morven’s tight pussy.
“Sir, what is going on?” Darren placed a hand on his stunner, prepared to come to his superior’s assistance if needed.
As if…! Wylder snorted, amused at the rookie’s thinking. In the presence of his mate, with the second link forged, there wasn’t a power in the world that could challenge him.
“Oh, I’m glad the police are here. Arrest this man! I think he’s accosting my friend!” The plump woman tugged at the police’s arm, waving an accusing hand in his direction. He smiled at her, honoring her loyalty to his lady. Stunned into silence, she sank down on her chair.
“Who is this man, Moriah? Why is he calling you Morven?” The black man cautiously eyed him while questioning his silent mate.
He cocked his head and waited, interested in hearing what she would say. When she remained stubbornly silent, he gave her the benefit of the doubt, deciding his appearance and mental lovemaking had rendered her momentarily incapable of speech. He liked the thought of that. Feeling magnanimous, he answered the man’s questions.
“I am Elias Wylder, Mage of the First Order, in service to the Lord and Lady through obedience to the Grand Council. And I am the Mated Warlock of Lady Morven Moriah Maganistus-Wylder.”
“I am not mated to you, you overbearing slug.” She flung herself out of her chair, standing toe-to-toe with him. This close to her, he could see the aura of her anger wafting in ultraviolet waves of rage just above her skin, could almost hear her teeth grinding together.
“Yes, you are.” His calm reply seemed to infuriate her more. Her eyes flared hotly and her hands clenched into fists. “Do you really want me to prove it to you again? Here, in front of your friends?”
He wished she would push him on the issue. He ached for another taste of her and right now, he didn’t give a damn if that touch had to be astral. He’d gladly fuck her any way, any time he got the chance.
She blanched. Eyes widening in suspicious wariness, she stared at him. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I just did,” he reminded her, his mouth and eyes growing slumberous as images of bringing her to orgasm made him long to do it once more, “And I am exercising great self control in not indulging in a repeat performance, my mate.”
The eyes are the mirror of the soul and they signal intent. He read hers just before her hand flashed out in an angry arch. Remembering all the legitimate grievances she had against him, he allowed the blow to fall, caught her hand when she would have pulled away and drew her flush against him.
She yanked at her hand. He smiled, easily countering her attempt at escape and tugged her closer, wrapped his arms about her and snuggled his face in the fragrant bend of her neck.
“Do you have any idea how long I have waited to have you in my arms again?” His whispered words breathed at her ear while his hands smoothed up and down the length of her back, relearning the sleek curves and valleys. “Feel how much I want you, Morven,” he urged, shifting his hips so his hard cock brushed against the curve of her belly, “how much I need you…”
“Get off me!” Her hands yanked at the collar of his shir
t, trying to move him away from her.
“Now that’s not nice,” Wylder admonished, catching the lobe of her ear between strong white teeth, giving it a sharp nip. At her gasp, he soothed the small pain with a swipe of his tongue. “After all, I didn’t tell you to get off me when you were riding me so hard, did I?” He drew back enough to catch her eyes. “Since turnabout’s fair play, my love, I think it’s my turn to ride you hard—”
“Mother of Magick, this is what you were so frightened of?” Both turned, startled at the voice breaking into their private maneuverings. Morven took the opportunity to slip from his grasp.
“All this time, he is whom you have been hiding from…?” Patricia stood eyeing Wylder with something akin to wonder. Turning to Morven she shook her head, asking, “How on earth does a girl resist something like him? If he were chasing after me, I’d run him down in a flash second!”
Caught up in the delicious interaction with his woman, he had forgotten their audience. The round cutie’s tones conveyed her doubts of the sanity of any woman seeking to escape his clutches, which pleased Wylder no end. Besides being a lush beauty, she definitely had the right ideas about his and Morven’s relationship. Wide grin stretching his mouth, he winked at her, amused at her flustered response. Damn if he wasn’t growing to like her more every minute.
“You have no idea what you are wishing for, believe me.” Morven scowled at her erstwhile friend, a flush of red staining her cheeks. “If my meager power impressed you, his would have you curled up, shivering in a ball of fear. This is the World Council’s Assassin, no boy-toy to drool over. And I was doing a good job of hiding from him until Roasting Roddy, here, had to stage a spectacle and draw unwanted attention to me.”
She turned her glare on Wylder, standing before him with her hands fisted at her hips. “How dare you come here, self-righteously demanding to know what I’ve done with your powers when you’re standing here, aura bloated with my stolen magick?”
He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair, gaze flicking over the avid expressions of Roddy and Patricia’s faces. “You know, babe, I really hadn’t wanted to get sidetracked onto this, just yet, not in front of your friends and business associates.” Then he locked gazes with her, eyes hardened, jaw firmed. “Since you’ve brought it up, sweetheart, where the hell is my magick?”
“Oh, no, Professor,” she shook a finger in his face. “You don’t get to ask me anything until you give me back my magick.”
“Actually, darling, I’ve been trying to do just that for the last year.”
The silvery gray of her pupils darkened to matte pewter as his words sank in, her jaw dropped. “You mean…?”
“That’s right, Lady. We only exchange power in one way. And since you are obviously not in possession of my elusive magick—” he stopped. Growing anger rumbled through him. He could hear the menace coloring his words. No way could he pretend the possibility of her having given herself to another man didn’t sear his soul. “—the questions that arise in my mind are: Who did you give it to? Whom do I have to kill?”
“You are insane. I haven’t been with anyone since…” Her voice shook and she averted her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze…hiding something, he realized.
Anger churned in his chest, fueled by heart-deep hurt and the growing suspicion she hid something more heinous than sharing what was his with another male.
“Why don’t I believe you, darling?” Wylder didn’t need to look in a glass to know his pupils glowed with otherlight as Morven’s power sang in his bloodstream, responding to the heat engendered by his growing rage. A halo of magick rimmed his outline; shifting arcs of pure energy wove in patterns of heat and potential writhing about his head, dancing between his splayed fingers.
“Do not compound your sin with lies, Morven.”
“I do not lie—unlike some I know,” she taunted, eyes tangling with his in a private, reminder of his colossal mistake. She began edging away from him. Her friends, though obviously as frightened as she, took up protective stances beside her.
“This is between you and me, Morven. No others,” he growled, helpless to disguise his jealousy of her bounty. He did not know what it felt like to have another stand at his side, had stood alone for what seemed long, solitary eons, since he had been forced to execute his twin.
“We will settle this tonight. Come—” he held out his hand, commanding her acquiescence.
“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you, mister! Leave her alone.”
Wylder turned his head slowly, glowing eyes settling on the man who dared to issue orders to him, to interfere between him and his mate. He stretched his hand out—
“Wylder, please don’t hurt Roddy!” Morven rushed between him and his intended target, hands raised in surrender.
Ignoring her, he swept both hands outward in a gesture of power, loosing a spray of lightning bolts. White hot and blazing, they streaked from his fingertips in sizzling bright arcs of electricity, searing the room with waves of energy.
Everyone—from the maitre d’ at the front door, to the scullery boys in the kitchen—took one last breath and froze in place.
*****
Shocked and shaken, Morven stared about the huge, silent restaurant. Awe at Wylder’s display of disciplined power and disgust at this sign of his monumental nerve, warred within her.
With thoughtless ease, he flung over two hundreds of people into frozen animation. Earlier, she had felt the presence of Magisti and other Supernaturals: Vampiri, Elven and Werefolk. Despite their magick and or magickal talents, they all sat motionless, as easily ensorcelled by him as the rest. This arrogant, intemperate casual display of power, this quiet room, epitomized her fears of a year ago.
For years, she had harbored a crush on Professor Wylder. She hadn’t been alone. All the female students—and some of the males—lusted after the notorious Warlock; titillated by the rumors the Council assassin had begun his career by executing his own rogue brother. Still, knowing herself no fit match for him—not academically, and certainly not magickly—she had contented herself worshipping from afar.
The day he had offered her the position as aide in her graduate year, she’d gone back to her dorm and tossed her lunch, her belly jumping with nervous elation. The entire year she had worked as his aide had been a giddy, horrific rollercoaster ride of nerves, upset tummy and tossed up lunches.
The man was more magnificent up close. He proved to be personable and friendly, willing to share his vast knowledge and resources with her. They had enjoyed many wonderful days—sun-drenched days, honeyed and warm with laughter and great conversation—which lingered even now in fond memories. Together, employing a mix of his ‘kick-ass’ philosophy and her ‘tender-hearted’ viewpoint, they had theoretically solved the problems of the world. Gradually, unknowingly, her crush had deepened into love. But she had been a small tadpole in a little pond, while he had been an eagle soaring on the heights of magick. His limitless power, and the casual arrogance with which she had witnessed him wielding it, scared the hell out of her. He seemed to harbor no inhibitions, to suffer no remorse at willfully restructuring others’ realities.
A week before her graduation, he had further shocked her by offering to be her Athame. Matter-of-factly informing her of his sexual prowess; he had assured her he knew how to make the most of his modest eleven inch cock. Then he had kissed her.
His kiss had overwhelmed her. Her girlish crush had never encompassed the firestorm of emotions he drew from her. How could she ever know if her love for him flowed from within or from being compelled? Sorrowfully, she had refused his offer, knowing she refused him on a deeper level.
Looking about the frozen room, at all the frozen people, she knew nothing had changed. Elias Wylder still wielded too much power…and too little control over himself.
“This,” she indicated his handiwork, “is why I refused you last year. Why I ran from you.”
Elias spared a quick glance about the room before turning
back to pin his fathomless gaze on her. “What ‘this’ do you mean? These people are not hurt. In fact, no time will have elapsed when I release them. Their food will still be hot, their wine chilled.”
“So it is okay to freeze a person just so you can have a few moments’ privacy?” She could not believe he truly thought his actions acceptable. “Why not just spirit us away to somewhere else, rather than disrupt these peoples’ lives?”
“I didn’t want you to add kidnapping to my list of sins.” His deep voice rumbled through the room, still laden with the heavy beat of power, making her realize the build up she had felt remained harnessed, ready to be unleashed, at his command.
“So this is about me?” she huffed, disgusted with his never-ending posturing.
His body stilled. Eyes blazing, he stared at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his words shattered her heart.
“Everything is about you, Morven. I told you that over a year ago. Without you in my life, the world could go up in flames for all I care. Hell, I’d set the fires and dance while it burned because nothing and no one is important to me, means anything to me…except you.”
“You can’t mean that,” she whispered, raising trembling palms to her cheeks, her heart turning over at the expression of weary pain on his craggy face. “You don’t love me like that. You don’t care about anyone, Wylder.”
His body shifted restlessly, stilled, as though he had fought a battle and won. “I mean it…and you’re right. I don’t care for anyone—I can’t because you ripped my heart out when you ran from me. You took my soul when you took my magick.” He closed his eyes in a slow blink.
Eyes regaining their glow, he advanced upon her and she knew he had no intention of stopping before he had her in his grasp. She retreated, stumbling over a chair in her haste to put distance between them.
He halted immediately, concern flashing in the depths of his sparkling eyes. “Damn it, woman, will you stand still before you hurt yourself?”
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