Bittersweet Magic to-2

by Nina Croft

  They’d heard nothing from Jack. According to Carl, the police were still watching his house, so it was unlikely he’d go back there. And the girl was alive and recuperating. He only hoped Jack had made sure she wouldn’t remember anything.

  One day in the not too dim and distant future, their kind was going to have to make itself known to humans. But not just yet.

  He turned to Jonas. “The next one is interesting.”

  “Really? In what way?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope to find out. She has fae blood, but I’m certain she doesn’t know it. Just let me know if you pick anything up.”

  “Will do. You have me intrigued now. Things have been a little slow around here lately.”

  “Well, the good news is—that’s about to change.”

  “It is? Oh, goody. Are you going to tell me how?”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  Jonas opened his mouth to answer, just as the guard ushered Sister Rosa into the room. She stood inside the door, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes downcast. The room filled with her sweet scent. Beside him, he heard Jonas’s sharp indrawn breath. The warlock could sense it as well.

  Piers pushed himself to his feet and strolled toward her, his body tightening as he drew near. Christ, she had a powerful effect on him.

  Halting in front of her, he reached out and placed his hand under her chin, forcing her to gaze into his face. She resisted for a moment and then the tension drained from her, and she stared up at him. Her eyes were magnificent close up, a deep, dark brown, but flecked with gold, and fringed with the thickest, sootiest lashes he had ever seen. For a moment, he was the one mesmerized. He pushed the thought aside. The time for fun would be when he had confirmed that she wasn’t part of some conspiracy to break down the walls between worlds and enslave mankind for all time.

  He grinned as he pushed his will into her mind. “Sister Rosa,” he murmured. “Tell me how long you’ve been with the Little Sisters of Mercy.”

  She fluttered those thick lashes at him. “Six years.”

  That was unexpected. So she was really a nun? Why was he surprised? A nun with unusual taste in underwear and a vibrator in her bedside cabinet.

  “And where were you before? Sister Maria said you’d only been with them a couple of weeks.”

  “I was at the mother house in Devon.”

  “And why did you move?”

  She was silent for a moment as though she was unwilling to answer. Was he going to hear something interesting at last?

  “My faith was being tested. I believed the enclosed convent would bring me closer to God.”

  Hmm. It sounded feasible, but he wasn’t buying it. But she couldn’t lie, not while he held her mind. Maybe someone had gotten to her. Maybe Jack at the convent or…

  “Piers…”

  Jonas said his name quietly from behind, and he glanced over his shoulder. Jonas gestured for him to come closer, and Piers moved to stand beside him. The warlock turned so his back was to Sister Rosa and spoke quietly. “You do know that she’s pretending, don’t you?”

  Shock hit him in the gut. “Pretending?” That theory hadn’t occurred to him at all. “How the fuck can she be pretending?” He kept his voice low. But how could she be—it wasn’t possible. The only “person” he’d come across in more than a thousand years who could resist his compulsion was Tara. And she’d turned out to be half fae, half demon.

  Jonas shrugged. “I have no idea, but she’s having you on, my friend.” He gazed past Piers for a moment. Piers followed the look. Sister Rosa was staring at them out of those big brown eyes, appearing the perfect picture of sweetness. Hell. Was she pretending? Had she been pretending the last couple of times? When she’d given up her sweet blood and come so easily in his arms?

  “Why?”

  He’d been speaking more to himself than to Jonas, but the warlock answered anyway.

  “I have no clue as to the why. Now the how—that’s another matter.”

  “So tell me how.” He wasn’t sure he was going to like the answer.

  “I can sense a great power. It was obvious as soon as she walked in the room. But it’s off, hidden and unfocused…” He shook his head. “Almost as if she’s unaware herself.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know what she is either.”

  “She knows enough to pretend to your compulsion. Which means someone must have warned her about you.”

  Who? Was she part of some intricate plot? He couldn’t believe how much he hated that idea. But if she was, then how did she fit in? Who was she working with?

  How far would she go to keep up the pretense?

  He was about to find out.

  Chapter Nine

  They’d finished their little conference, and he was heading back. Roz wiped the expression from her face as he approached, his eyes staring straight in to hers.

  Oh, great, the mesmerizy thingy again. She could tell by the intense expression on his face. He had stunning eyes, dark blue like a hot summer day. All the same, she wished he wouldn’t stare at her with them. It was just as well she was a good actress. She wondered who the old guy was—he looked on his last legs.

  She just had to get through these questions, and afterwards, she was sure they’d let her and Maria go. Why wouldn’t they? There was one good thing about the mesmerization—at least he’d believe her. Easy.

  “Sister Rosa.” He came to a halt about a foot away, a small smile playing on his lips. What had the old guy told him? She flicked a quick glance his way, and the man quirked his lips as if amused. Damn. What was going on now?

  “Yes,” she murmured in her serenest voice.

  “Strip.”

  Okay, she was going to presume she hadn’t heard that right. Self-delusion at its best, but all the same… “What?”

  “Take off your clothes.” He enunciated each word slowly so she couldn’t even pretend not to understand.

  Shit.

  What was going on? Did he really want her to strip for some pervy purpose or was he testing her?

  Double shit.

  Why would he be testing her? Did he suspect she was pretending? How? Was she a crap actress after all? She had to make a decision quickly or he’d know she was pretending anyway.

  She took a deep breath. It wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her body. She could do this. After all, this guy had given her the two most mind blowing orgasms of her life—maybe he deserved to see her. She wasn’t so sure about the old guy. But even as the thoughts were racing through her mind, her hand went to the row of small buttons running down the front of her robe.

  Piers’ eyes widened as though she had surprised him. Then they darkened as her fingers plucked at the tiny buttons.

  She waited for him to tell her to stop. After all, he was only doing this to prove a point—that she was under his will—wasn’t he?

  But she reached the last button, and still he didn’t speak out. If he believed she was afraid of this, he didn’t know her. She pushed the sleeves down her arms and the bodice of the robe pooled around her waist, leaving her top half naked but for the black bra. His gaze played across her bare skin, lingering on the too full curves of her breasts. She could feel them swelling under his regard, her nipples hardening, pushing against the lace.

  A small smile curved his lips.

  Yeah, the bastard knew she was pretending. Goddamn it—it looked like she wasn’t going home anytime soon.

  He hadn’t known the last two times, she was sure of it—so what was different? The old guy? Who was he? Or more to the point, considering where they were, what was he?

  Piers was still gazing at her chest. How far would he make her go?

  Reaching behind her, so her breasts thrust out toward him, she fingered the catch on her bra. Staring into his face, she whispered the word. “More?”

  He nodded and her eyes narrowed.

  She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled. “Well, if you want more, you’re going to have to take
it yourself. Fucking pervert.”

  She heard a choke of laughter from the old guy. But she ignored it, holding her breath as she waited for Piers’ reaction. Instead, a hiss came from the old man and her gaze shot toward him. He was staring at the sigil wrapped around her upper arm. She’d always told people it was a tattoo. Obviously, he recognized it as something else.

  He stepped up close and lifted a hand. “Do you mind?” he asked at the last moment.

  “Would it make any difference?”

  He smiled, then stroked one fingertip over the intricate design.

  “What is it?” Piers asked, his tone sharp.

  Jonas glanced at him. “You’ve never seen one? I’m surprised. It’s a demon’s sigil. A sort of brand of indebtedness. And it’s old. Very old.”

  “How old?”

  Could he tell? It would give her away. Then what would happen?

  “Five hundred years, give or take a few. Your little nun has been holding out on you.” He studied her. “Just what are you?”

  Roz sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”

  “Actually, yes.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Jonas, by the way. Piers failed to introduce us.”

  She eyed up the outstretched hand, reached out, and slid her palm against his. As she wrapped her fingers around his, a little jolt of power ran through her from the point of contact, as though some part of her recognized him. He must have felt it too, as his smile broadened. She tugged free. “And what are you, Jonas?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “I’m a warlock.”

  At his words, the air left her lungs with a whoosh. She glanced around, found the nearest chair, and dropped. For a minute she sat, contemplating the floor. He was a warlock. And he was openly admitting it here at the Order of the Shadow Accords. Where Asmodai had told her they would kill her, if they ever found out what she was. He’d told her they killed all people like her.

  “Is that like a male witch?” she asked, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

  “Witch, warlock…they’re just names given by people who have no real clue what they mean.”

  People like her. Thanks to Asmodai. Roz could feel the fury rising inside her. She gritted her teeth. Asmodai had lied. He’d been lying to her for five hundred years.

  “That fucking bastard.”

  “Who?”

  Piers had backed off and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them both. She clamped her lips at his question. She had to think things through. Decide what to do next. Sticking a dagger in Asmodai’s black, lying heart would be her first choice. Was it possible to murder a demon? She was betting there were people here who knew the answer to that particular question. In fact, she was betting there were people here who knew all the answers. No doubt, that was why Asmodai had lied—he hadn’t wanted her to know what was going on. It might have allowed her to think for herself and maybe reduced her usefulness.

  Or did he have other reasons?

  Beneath the anger, she felt a faint hum of excitement. Was she going to finally learn some of those answers? A shiver ran over her skin and she realized she was sitting there half naked. She glared up at Piers.

  “Well, now you’ve had your bit of fun, could I get dressed?”

  He shrugged. “Pity. That really is one ugly outfit but go ahead.”

  She tugged the dress up her arms and held it together.

  “So you were faking it all the time?”

  She shrugged noncommittally.

  “And you remember everything we did?”

  “Well, I don’t remember me doing much, but yeah, I remember you sucking my blood, if that’s what you mean. Ugh!”

  “Ugh? From what I remember, you enjoyed it a lot—both times.”

  She gave him a scornful glance and sniffed. “I was pretending.”

  “Of course you were.” The words came out as a rough purr that sent shivers running down her spine. “Would you like to pretend some more?”

  Heat washed over her at his question, flushing through her body before settling low down in her belly. A little pulse started its insistent throb between her thighs, and she glanced away. Her hands fisted at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to bring her unruly body under control.

  What was it about this man that affected her so badly? He was gorgeous, but she’d met gorgeous men before and they hadn’t made her lose her common sense or her grip on reality. Hadn’t made her forget everything but the urge to push him back against the wall and rub up against him like a cat in heat. Her breasts responded to the idea, her nipples tightening, sending darts of sensation shooting down to her groin. She’d rip that T-shirt from his body…

  Someone coughed, and she looked up to find Jonas watching her. She shifted her gaze to the vampire, her eyes narrowing at the amused quirk on his lips, only slightly mollified as her gaze clashed with his. She recognized her own hunger reflected and magnified in the midnight blue depths.

  “So, should I leave you two alone for a moment?” Jonas asked.

  “Yes,” Piers said.

  “No,” she snapped. She made a concerted effort to relax, her fingers uncurling, the tension oozing out of her shoulders, leaving her a little shaky. Too much had happened over the last few days. She was struggling to take it all in. But even if the Order didn’t automatically kill people like her, she also knew they weren’t necessarily on her side. Her only hope of living her own life, free from coercion, was to get Asmodai off her back. To do that she had to finish the tasks, and that meant handing him the Key.

  What did he want with it? Piers had told Christian that the Key opened the portals between worlds. All worlds. But while Asmodai might be a lying bastard, she didn’t believe he was truly evil. He was a demon, and she’d come to see that he viewed the world, and the whole morality thing, differently from most people. All the same, she was pretty sure he wasn’t some megalomaniac monster intent on taking over the world and subjugating the whole human race. But what did she know? He’d successfully managed to lie to her for five hundred years. Could she really believe anything he said?

  But what else could she do? She had to contact him to tell him she had the Key, so maybe she could ask. Of course, he had an irritating habit of ignoring her questions, but at least she would have tried. She bit her lip. How many times had she used that excuse over the centuries?

  First, though, she somehow had to persuade these people that she wasn’t a threat, that they could let her go. How likely was she to succeed at that?

  She looked up to find both of them watching her. “I don’t suppose you have something to drink around here?” She frowned. “Do you lot even drink?”

  “Us lot?” Piers asked, amusement clear in his tone.

  “You know, blood-sucking monsters. Or do you just drink blood?”

  “We drink.”

  “That’s a relief. Well, get me a drink, and I’ll tell you everything I can.”

  “We could just make you.”

  “What? You’d torture a nun?” He just stared at her, and she shrugged. “Yeah, you could, but it’s been done before, and I’m stubborn, and it would be long and drawn out and messy.” She tried her sweetest smile, the one that showed her dimples. “Wouldn’t a little drink be easier?”

  His gaze narrowed on her lips, then he shrugged and turned to Jonas. “Go get something, would you? Any preferences?” he asked Roz.

  She realized this would leave her alone with Piers but hopefully not long enough to lose her precarious hold on her control and physically attack him. And she needed a drink. “Scotch, if you have it.”

  “I’m sure I can find some somewhere. Be good while I’m gone.” Jonas hesitated at the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll knock.”

  She cast him a filthy look. “Hah-hah.”

  For some strange, inexplicable reason, the room seemed smaller without him. And warmer. Not enough space to house the pacing vampire. He was just so big. She tri
ed to ignore him, occupied herself with doing up what remained of her buttons, but a prickle running over her skin made her glance up. He’d stopped his pacing and come to a halt in front of her. His hands rested on his lean hips and he was scrutinizing her in a way that made her squirm.

  She decided to go on the offensive. If she pissed him off enough, maybe he wouldn’t come near her. “I bet you do this all the time, don’t you?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know, mesmerizing women and having your evil way with them. Making them take their clothes off and God knows what else.”

  He took a step closer, and she realized she might have made a tactical error challenging this man. She got the distinct impression that he was the sort who liked a challenge. Perhaps she would have been much better going with the meek and mild approach. But she wouldn’t have been able to keep that up for long—meek had never been her strong point.

  He leaned closer, resting his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. His face was only inches away and she breathed in the cool, musky scent. “Honey, if I was the sort of man to do that, you’d know it.”

  “I would?” Lord, she sounded breathless.

  “Yeah, if I was the sort of man to take advantage, then darling, we’d have already fucked twice.”

  “We would have?”

  He whispered the words against her skin. “As it is, we still have that pleasure to look forward to.”

  “We do?”

  “Oh yeah, never doubt it.”

  He closed the last space between them, and then his mouth was on hers. She had a brief flash of awareness to her brain that said she should stop this. Now. Somehow. Before she lost the will. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d lost the will long ago. But boy, could he kiss. Besides, the warlock would be back soon; surely it wouldn’t hurt to relax her guard for just a minute.

  It occurred to her—not for the first time—that she was the queen of self-delusion. All the same, she couldn’t resist. Instead of fighting him off, she tilted her head back and opened her lips beneath his, groaned as the moist velvet of his tongue thrust languidly into her mouth. One hand came up to cup the back of her skull and hold her steady while he ravaged her mouth.