Déjà Vu & Gin

by Heather R. Blair

  So solve it. Which one is real? I mentally tick through the new spellwork Anastasia gave me. No revelation spells. My brain switches to the items on my belt. Again I come up short.

  Oh, duh. It’s a truth stone.

  I’ve never used one, but I’ve heard how they work.

  As gently as possible I press my fingertip to the first one, letting out a shaky breath when nothing happens.

  I like brussel sprouts, I think.

  Nothing.

  Maybe you have to speak the lie out loud. I try again, my finger pressing harder.

  “I like my gin straight up.” I frown. Well, that’s a wash. No self-respecting Englishman likes gin straight, even a half-Gypsy one. Actually, anyone that knows two shits about alcohol doesn’t like gin straight. Shaking my head, I move to the next, deciding to try a truth this time.

  “I’m going to kill Loki.”

  Yes. My luck is holding. I snatch the stone from the bowl and step to the door, pressing my ear against it. Nothing.

  Carefully I ease it open, looking both ways before stepping out in the corridor. I reach back to shut the door behind me, but it’s already swinging closed.

  Frowning, I turn around to look at it, but footsteps suddenly sound from the direction of the main chamber. I run lightly in the opposite direction without looking back, wondering if the witch has plans tonight.

  12

  I shouldn’t text him. Men pursue. That is the way of the world. Then I laugh at myself. This situation between me and the assassin doesn’t exactly fit one of Madame de Pompadour’s lessons. Of course, it hasn’t even been one day. Do I want to seem that desperate?

  I bite my lip and pace around the room one more time. Then I think of the way he felt inside me and decide I don’t give a damn.

  I’m holding my phone when I hear the snick of my balcony door being eased open. Yes. I turn around slowly, my hands behind my back.

  Tyr moves into the room like a shadow made flesh, light and quick and dark. I barely resist jumping up and down, but something of my mood most show on my face because his grin is irritatingly smug.

  “You were about to call me,” he guesses.

  I can’t lie to him so I just roll my eyes.

  He doesn’t buy it. “What’s behind your back then?”

  I drop my phone on the bed. “Nothing.”

  “So you won’t mind if I go—” He steps toward the balcony and I whisper under my breath. The lock snicks home. He raises his eyebrows, lips twitching. “Yeah, I thought not.”

  “You’re here,” I point out.

  “Maybe I’m only here for more spellwork. Ever think of that?”

  My face starts to burn. His smile turns feral as he moves across the room, the way his hips move making my mouth dry. “I’m not here for spellwork, Anastasia.”

  My sigh of relief is audible and I don’t care. He laughs as he curls a finger into my bodice and tugs. “Your brand of seduction is admittedly unusual, but highly effective.”

  I blush. “I used to be better at this sort of thing.”

  “Did you now?” There is a tightness to his lips that comes and goes so quickly I almost miss it. “How many of these liaisons have you had?”

  “Including you?” I bite my lip, then decide to get it over with. “Four.”

  He cocks his head, looking curious. “And you are how old exactly?”

  Rude. But I answer him anyway, knowing what he’s getting at. “If we’re talking in terms of actual years I’ve lived through, then around one hundred and twenty.”

  “Four lovers in a hundred and twenty years?” He stares at me. “Long-term lovers then.”

  “No. Once each.”

  “Once each . . .” His voice trails off. “How long since the last time?”

  “A hundred years. Give or take.”

  His eyes widen. “You’re not bloody serious.”

  “I assure you, I am.” I watch as he bends over to loosen the laces of his boots. I start to babble, probably because I’m somewhere between incredibly excited and terribly nervous. Will round two stand up to round one? Or will we both end up disappointed? “I thought maybe there was something wrong with me.”

  “Wrong with you?” he echoes, glancing up.

  “That I might be frigid or something.”

  He stares at me, boot dangling from one hand. “Frigid?” I get the impression he’s trying hard not to laugh.

  I frown at him, folding my arms. “You called me cold. Implied I’d wither a man with a look.”

  Something dark flickers in his eyes. With a curse, he drops his boot and yanks me to him. Before I can blink, he’s got my hand pressed hard between his legs where something hard is pressing back. Oh gods. “That feel withered to you?” He lets go of my hand, but I leave it where it is, tracing the shape of him with my fingers. He groans and steps away to kick off his other boot while my hand falls reluctantly. “You think I’d be back here less than,” he glances at his watch, “seven hours from the last time we fucked if you were cold?”

  I shrug, missing the heat of him against my fingers.

  “You’re not frigid,” he says with such conviction it rattles me.

  “How can you be so sure?” My laugh is a shaky thing. “After one time?”

  “Once was enough.” His eyes are hooded, but gleaming. “I’ve never seen a woman who burned so hot.”

  I’d blush if those words came out of anyone else’s mouth, but Tyr makes it sound like such a compliment, I can’t help but smile.

  “How the hell is it possible you didn’t seek out someone before me?”

  I shrug. “I’m not good with people, especially men.” I step forward and focus on helping him unzip his pants because I don’t want to meet his eyes. “And to be honest, you were the first one in a long time that I even wa . . .”

  He tilts my head up when I let the words die off. “What?”

  I huff. “You know what.”

  “I guess I do.” He pushes my hands away, making me bite my lip and look down at the floor. Has he realized what a freak I am? Decided he doesn’t want to play this game anymore?

  Then he’s lifting my chin again, grinning at me. “Well, I’d say we’ve got our work cut out, catching you up.”

  “Just how many lovers have you had?” I say lightly.

  Not lightly enough. He raises an eyebrow. “I thought my experience was what you were after.”

  I wrinkle my nose but don’t comment. He’s absolutely right, but to my surprise his eyes soften at my expression.

  “It’s been a long time for me as well, Anastasia.” His voice turns from gentle to teasing again. “Though not a hundred fucking years.”

  I smack his arm, though I’m finding this side of him delightful rather than annoying.

  He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. “Let’s see, say every other day for a hundred years . . . Basically, we’re going to have to fuck at least three or four times a day for the foreseeable future to even make a dent.”

  “Sure you can fit me in?”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “The question, love, is whether you can fit me in.”

  I laugh. “You’re not that big.”

  But then he’s pressing my fingers to the bulge in his pants again and my stomach is getting that weird, swooping ache to it. I want.

  “That’s not what you said when I was inside you,” he whispers.

  My fingers tighten. “Really? Maybe you should remind me.” I’m feeling ridiculously bold all of a sudden. “Fuck me, Tyr.”

  13

  When she says it again my cock jumps, but I ignore it, running my thumb along her lower lip. “Such a dirty word from such a sweet mouth.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me, all haughty. Of course, I can’t have that.

  “What if I don’t want to fuck you yet?” I counter.

  She blinks, trying to decide whether I’m joking or not. “Yet?”

  I bite back a smile at the forlorn look on her face. Impatient little ch
it. “First, I have something for that naughty mouth of yours.” I push her to her knees with one hand and flick my jeans open with the other.

  Seconds later, she’s blushing at my naked cock in her face. That gorgeous color rises over her pale skin in a way that makes me insane. “I’ve never done such a thing.”

  I swallow against the almost painful tightening of my balls as she licks her lips nervously. “Never?”

  She glances up, her eyes bright under those silvery lashes. “Never. But—”

  Her tongue sweeps out again and this time she laps at me once, warm and wet and slow, sliding over the slit in my tip that’s beading cum for her already.

  “—if you’re very patient with me—”

  She looks me right in the eye and swallows deliberately.

  “—I might get the hang of it.”

  Bloody hell.

  “Yes. You will.” I cup the back of her head and curl my fingers in her hair, my voice harsh. “Suck my cock, Anastasia. Suck it hard.”

  Her mouth closes around me and I swear I see stars. She isn’t smooth, but she’s enthusiastic, and knowing she’s never done this to anyone but me? I resist the urge to close my eyes, because watching her lips moving up and down is almost as good as feeling them. I barely make it five minutes before I know I’m going to come.

  So I tell her. She doesn’t pull away. Christ.

  “Anastasia,” I growl with what’s left of my air. “This is your last warning.”

  Her eyes flick to mine and hold. Just like that, I’m done. My fingers tighten in those silky, silver-blond curls, holding the back of her head as I come so fucking hard my knees almost hit the floor. Gods, the feel of her sweet, tight throat swallowing makes me want to roar with satisfaction.

  I stand there for a full minute after she pulls away, trying to catch my breath and get some goddamn perspective.

  It was just a damn blowjob.

  Like she’s just a contract. A contract I didn’t want and that could get me killed. One that I can’t stop thinking of every other second. She’s going to make me sloppy.

  Perspective. I’ve never lost it, not once in over a hundred years. I won’t lose it with her either. I won’t.

  This is just a temporary arrangement. A bit of fun that will run its course if I let it. I’ll get bored with her soon enough.

  I’m sure of it.

  But that crawling between my shoulder blades is back, that itch that always warns me when I’m in over my head.

  I help her to her feet, telling myself this is the perfect time to create some distance, to show her what a prick I can be. I even open my mouth to do it, to say something cruel and careless and cold. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue . . .

  I can’t.

  I blame her lips.

  They’re so red and ripe and swollen. Fine. One kiss, and then I’ll go. But when I yank her to her toes and settle my mouth over her trembling one, something dark and primal tries to claw its way out of my ribs. She fucking tastes like me.

  To hell with perspective.

  “Anastasia.”

  She blinks at my low growl, obviously still so dazed from what she just did she’s barely registering anything else. She’s pressing her thighs together hard, her ass taut and squirming under my hands. I wonder how wet getting me off made her. I literally came less than a minute ago and my lower stomach is already tightening all over again.

  This witch really is going to kill me.

  Without another word, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.

  “What are you doing, Tyr?” she shrieks.

  “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

  “Maybe.” She’s swatting at me, but she can’t get any leverage and it’s like being batted by a kitten. I smile and take the few remaining strides to the bed, taking my time answering her.

  “You really have a lot to learn, love. I’m going to throw you on that bed”—more thrashing—“and tie you down”—kicking—“and eat your pussy until you beg me to stop.”

  She goes limp. “Oh.”

  Oh indeed. I shove her skirts out of my face and toss her on the bed.

  She looks completely ravishing there, a word I always thought was damn stupid but fits Anastasia to a T. Those moonlight curls are mussed from my fingers, her eyes huge and bright, her lips a sweet and swollen crimson. “After that, we’ll get started for real.”

  Her mouth falls open. I smile.

  “Now, love, where do you keep your scarves?”

  14

  He made me scream and scream.

  And scream.

  My throat is raw, and my wrists ache from where he tied me down, even though he used the softest scarves I own. I blink my eyes and stare at the patterns on the ceiling.

  He’s not here, of course. Tyr left hours ago. I already want him again.

  We were at it all night and half the morning. I warded the doors and silenced the room, but honestly, I don’t think I’d have left that bed even if my sisters could have heard us.

  Is this obsession?

  Am I obsessed with this man?

  I swing my legs off the bed and get to my feet. My legs are weak and wobbly. I’ve stretched muscles I didn’t know I had. He’s stretched muscles I didn’t know I had. Gingerly, I head for the bathroom and hot water.

  Maybe it’s just his dick. I haven’t seen that many, but it’s a very nice dick. I grin stupidly. My favorite one so far.

  The thought makes me wrinkle my nose, the smile fading from my face. The thought of touching anyone but Tyr leaves me cold.

  Stop it. I told him no ties, no expectations. For all I know he leaves my bed and tumbles right into another.

  Maybe many others.

  I’ve nothing to worry about physically, of course. I’m a witch, I won’t be getting pregnant unless I want to be, and innate magic protects me from all but the most severe human diseases. That’s not really the point, though.

  Yes, he said it’d been a long time for him, too. But I remember what else he said.

  I fuck women and I kill people.

  Obviously, he’s more experienced than I am, in so many ways. I could be out of my league here.

  My eyes widen.

  Once I decided I wanted to try the whole Tyr experience, I managed to push something glaringly obvious out of my head. It returns now with a vengeance. This man could kill Persephone. We dance around it, never saying anything outright as I know he must be sworn to secrecy per his contract, but it’s clear he’s been hired to kill her. The only thing stopping him is my contract.

  The one he so desperately wants out of.

  This could all be a con.

  Except he didn’t proposition you. You propositioned him, you paranoid idiot.

  True, but a man like Tyr could easily twist my desire to his advantage . . . After all, he didn’t seem keen at first, only insulted.

  No.

  I don’t believe it.

  I glower at my mirror and set the hairbrush down before it even touches my hair. He had his hands in my hair. He had his hands everywhere. I can still smell him. Tyr smells like campfires and spice. A wild sort of smell. I breathe deeply, then curse.

  Maybe it’s time for a shower.

  By the time I’ve got my clothes on and my head on somewhat straight, it’s near dusk and snowing again. I don’t mind. I love winter. All four seasons, actually, but winter is my favorite.

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, though. Shivering, I rub my arms in the fuzzy angora sweater Seph bought me last Yule. It’s powder blue. I pair it with jeans and boots. A dress doesn’t appeal today. No matter what Tyr thinks, I don’t always dress like Marie Antoinette.

  It just that the process of it is so comforting. All those layers, it’s like my armor. The world has changed so much—mostly for the good. Hello, indoor plumbing and electric stoves. Not to mention iPods and indie music. But some days it’s all a little . . . much. Time travel isn’t easy on a person. No wonder Mom
is so fucked up.

  Mom.

  I wonder where she is right now. I wonder if she knows about Tyr, if she saw him when she was looking ahead like she does. Would she have warned me if she had?

  No. I can’t go there. Obsessing over what my mother may or may not see is not a healthy pastime, or a productive one.

  When Jett comes stomping into the house an hour later, shouting something about Seph blowing up the mall and the Council calling down an inquiry, it shouldn’t be such a shock.

  I knew something was coming. Tyr told me so himself, but . . . tonight?

  Right after leaving my bed?

  I go upstairs to change while Jett continues raging, waiting for my sister to come home and tell us all what I’ve already figured out. Tyr attacked her tonight. Set her up.

  Layer by layer I add the clothes, but it doesn’t matter.

  I still feel exposed. Vulnerable.

  Foolish.

  15

  It’s been days and the witch hasn’t contacted me.

  Days.

  My teeth grind together as I slip through the hedge, the storm howling around me as I look up at her window. We’re in full-on blizzard mode, snow spitting in my face and ice clinging to my hair. Fuck, it’s cold.

  I would have been here ages ago, but things have been a bit dicey on my end after the whole mall incident. Cerunnos is pleased with me, which is a nice change. Of course, he doesn’t know what I gave Persephone. As far as I know, he doesn’t know the real truth stone is missing at all.

  I know Seph is gone. She’s with the bruins. Jack Frost finally left the Dark Council tonight, just before I did. The more I watch him, the more I think he’s playing Cerunnos just like I am. Not that I’m going to give him up. These witches have grown on me.

  One in particular.

  I throw a leg over the balcony and slip and slide over to the door.

  A quasi-electrical shock throws me back.

  She’s warded the sliding glass door. Trying to keep me out. A shadow moves back and forth behind the thin curtain. She’s in there, pacing. If I knock, I’ll only get thrown clear again.