Witchlock

by Dianna Love

  I beg to differ.

  That had been a plea as much as a statement and he ached to be inside her, too, but not yet.

  Allowing one hand to pay homage to her breast, keeping her gasping and trembling, he ran his other hand down, fingers tracing every inch of her firm body. She was built for agility and power, but all that toned body came with plenty of curves.

  Evalle fought with all she had inside her to protect others and do her duty. She rarely softened completely except at a moment like this when she felt safe enough to let her guard down.

  Only for him.

  Humbling to say the least.

  This magnificent woman was all his to hold forever.

  His fingers swept around her waist and across her taut butt, then he slipped between her legs and found the bundle of nerves that were as slick wet as the rest of her. He wanted to take her to the edge with his tongue, but she would not last long tonight so he brushed the pad of his finger over the sensitive spot and she slapped her hands against the tiled wall.

  Two more strokes and she shuddered, calling out to him, so very close that he slid one long finger inside her, pulling it out slowly then pushing back in.

  Power shook the glass.

  “Easy, baby,” he soothed her, which was in contradiction to the way his fingers demanded she let go.

  He moved to the nipple that had been neglected and teased it.

  She bowed back, arching with her hands flush against the wall. She keened a long sound.

  The wall cracked just as she crashed over the edge. He didn’t let her stop until she gave everything up.

  When her knees buckled, he caught her and turned her around, then lifted her into his arms where he could kiss her. She curled a noodle-limp arm around his neck.

  Her lips smoothed into a content smile.

  He’d make it his goal to keep her that way.

  He kissed her deeper, missing everything about her more than he would ever expect to miss a person in only one week. Good luck expecting him to go away again any time soon. All he had to do was come up with a living arrangement that would work for both of them. That had never been an issue in the past, but they’d never tried to coexist under one roof before.

  She let him lift his head. When he did, he was treated to a glazed look of satisfaction that he’d put on her face.

  She struggled to draw in one breath after another. “Is that all?”

  “Can you handle more?”

  “I know you didn’t just ask me that.”

  There was his badass, always up for a challenge. He lowered her to her feet and kissed her again with water sluicing over them both.

  She pointed her hand at the glass door, which swung open, then she bent a finger as if calling something to her.

  He lifted his head in time to catch the condom flying into the bathroom.

  She asked, “Want me to put it on or can you handle that?”

  “Tough question. It’s been a whole week since I’ve been inside you. I might not survive it.”

  Her eyes glowed and her lips quirked up. She snatched the condom out of his hand and tossed the wrapper out the door, closing the glass door before she sheathed him.

  He hadn’t been kidding about not surviving her hands on him. Then she jumped into his arms and he busted out laughing and told her, “I’ve missed you.”

  “Really?”

  That sounded too serious. He held her with one arm underneath her and brushed her hair back. “Don’t ever doubt it or that I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Again, too intense.

  He’d get to the bottom of all this anxiety filling her gaze tomorrow. For now, he’d just love her.

  She squirmed and moved, trying to lower herself.

  He used both hands to lower her, stopping just close enough to let the tip of his penis tease her.

  She grabbed his shoulders and gave him her threatening look. “If you keep holding me back, my kinetics might kill us all.”

  Not giving up her bright-green gaze, he lowered her and pushed inside slowly until she took all of him.

  Sweet mother of... mercy.

  Then she moved up and down, whispering, “Faster. Harder.”

  He took over and changed the rhythm, driving toward pleasure that damn near blinded him.

  He could face anything tomorrow as long as he had Evalle in his arms tonight.

  Chapter 10

  Quinn stepped out through the patina-green doorway of the private mausoleum that now held a Medb priestess who should not be there. Late morning sunshine glared in his face and knocked back the chill in his soul. A peaceful Sunday seemed appropriate for laying Kizira to rest, and the sculptured statues, massive monuments and ancient oaks of Oakland Cemetery would watch over her.

  With downtown Atlanta only a mile away, Quinn could keep her close and out of sight. This cemetery had shielded secrets since the mid 1800s when the first Atlanta residents were buried here.

  Oakland would protect Quinn’s secrets, too.

  His eyes stung. He squeezed them shut.

  He’d shed all the tears that he would allow to fall. It was time to face the consequences of his failure.

  Kizira dead.

  So young. So beautiful. So full of love.

  He hadn’t deserved her love, but she’d given it without restraint. He swallowed against the perpetual knot of pain that had lodged in his throat. “Kizira, why ... ”

  You know why, you bloody bastard. She stepped between you and the jaws of a gryphon. Saved your miserable unworthy hide.

  Damn if a tear didn’t defy him and slide down his cheek.

  Straightening his shoulders, Quinn found his backbone and leaned through the open doors to place one of his oldest Belador triquetras on the floor inside. Then he pulled the old iron doors together with a clang and used his mental kinetics to lift the triquetra blade and hook it over the handles on the inside of the doors.

  Using that old triquetra to guard her body seemed fitting.

  All of his new ones had been freshly warded a few weeks ago, so they could not be moved using kinetics, because Kizira had been compelled by her evil queen to breach his wards. Quinn shook his head at the ugly irony. He could safely use the old triquetras again because the only person who knew how to get past them now lay dead inside this tomb.

  The ward on the triquetra would stand stronger than any lock to prevent someone foolish enough to touch what was his.

  He couldn’t keep her in life, but she was his in death.

  There would never be another love for him such as her. He’d fallen in love with the enemy a long time ago and realized too late that what they had was genuine.

  Too late for Kizira.

  He’d be lucky if Macha didn’t punish him, or strike him down, for his relationship with a Medb.

  Not just any Belador enemy. Their most hated.

  But Quinn hadn’t known Kizira’s true identity when, as a young man, he’d met and fallen in love with a dazzling woman who had just come of age. Two weeks of bliss, then she’d given him a bracelet braided of his hair and said goodbye.

  She’d told him then that she belonged to his enemy’s coven, but he would never be her enemy. He should have taken those words to heart, because she had, and it cost her.

  He stepped away from the tomb and lifted the fragile bracelet from his coat pocket, running his thumb carefully over the tightly knit strands.

  Kizira’s final words to him as he’d held her dying body kept torturing his mind. He could see her face, pale and waning as death called to her.

  “Promise me . . . ” she’d said.

  “Anything.” He’d brushed his lips over hers, savoring the feel.

  “Find Phoedra. Keep her safe.”

  “Who’s Phoedra?”

  “Our daughter.”

  Pain struck his chest again as he watched her die once more in his mind. Agony clawed his heart, a beast with an insatiable appetite for misery. Quinn curled his fist to keep from slinging
power madly at anything and everything.

  His fault she died.

  Unclenching his fist, he grappled for control of his own emotions. He had no place to lay blame other than at his own feet, and would not lash out at an innocent world just because his soul was damned beyond redemption.

  He’d find Phoedra, who would be twelve now. Once he located her, he’d determine if she was safe, though he had no doubt that Kizira had hidden her well to keep her from the filthy clutches of the Medb.

  Kizira expected Quinn to go and take possession of their daughter.

  He stared at the bracelet. How could he tell his daughter that he was her father and the man responsible for her mother’s death?

  Sliding it back into his pocket, Quinn strode out of the cemetery.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Is that Belador the one Queen Maeve put a bounty on?” Donndubhán asked in a hushed voice.

  Imar nodded. “Vladimir Quinn. The queen wants him. She said it’s because he killed one of our warlocks last week. If she wants him, why doesn’t she send all the Scáth Force after him instead of just Ossian?”

  “Queen Maeve favors Ossian.” Donndubhán had proven himself as an elite Scáth Force warrior time and again, yet Ossian had been the one to gain Cathbad’s eye.

  Cathbad the Druid had been selecting the warlocks he believed most suited to belong to the Scáth Force, and Donndubhán had easily made the cut, but Ossian had somehow been picked as the top ass-kisser. Ossian always had been an attention whore. But whatever the queen wanted, Ossian couldn’t deliver it without help.

  And that’s how Donndubhán had ended up as Ossian’s confidante. Ossian needed the eyes and ears of someone capable he could trust.

  Imar huffed out his irritation. “Will Ossian tell you why Queen Maeve wants Quinn?”

  “No, but I’ll bet the queen wants this Quinn for something besides retribution for killing one of her warlocks. We’re little more than disposable rats to her.” Donndubhán scratched his five-day-old beard and watched Quinn get into a limo, which drove off. If Maeve cared about losing a warlock, she’d have taken it up with the Tribunal now that the Medb coven had joined the coalition.

  “If she isn’t after revenge, then why would she want Quinn?” Imar asked. “He’s a Belador.”

  Donndubhán stood and stretched his legs, saying, “My intel shows that Quinn is one of the most powerful Beladors because of his mindlock ability. We need to find out more about him and figure out what Maeve wants.”

  Imar agreed, “And before another Medb group gets their hands on him. I want that bounty.”

  “If he’s as dangerous as I’ve heard, any Medb other than the Scáth Force is on a suicide mission if they go after him.”

  Imar muttered, “Maybe even them, too.”

  Donndubhán ignored the stupid comment and looked down the path to where Quinn had exited a mausoleum inside the cemetery. “What’s in that tomb?”

  “I don’t know. I came straight here as soon as I got a call from the troll who said he had something to offer. When I got here, the troll said Quinn had walked into the cemetery while his limo waited, then entered the mausoleum, so whatever is in there was already in the tomb before Quinn got here.”

  “You dealt with a troll?”

  Imar looked insulted. Touchy damn warlock. Imar said, “Of course I did. I offered him safety. I told him we’re going to do what the Beladors won’t and protect trolls, but that he has to help me and keep quiet or we won’t keep him safe. I’ve got him convinced he can’t go home or he puts all his family at risk and that we have people watching over him. He’s showing me hiding spots of his troll friends so I can tell our warlocks to watch out for them.”

  “Interesting idea.”

  Imar shrugged. “We need more trolls if we’re going to make this demon plan work and that’s the best way to find them. I’m not stupid.”

  That was debatable, but Donndubhán said, “Good job, Imar.”

  Donndubhán turned around, checking to see that nothing else had entered the cemetery. There were only ghouls and orbs. Not something he could get rid of in a place like this.

  What could be important enough for this Vladimir Quinn to visit that tomb? And why did Maeve really want this man? Donndubhán would find out both, which meant he’d hold all the cards when he captured Quinn.

  Donndubhán knew how to set a successful trap and never get caught.

  What Imar didn’t need to know was that Quinn would be far more valuable as a trade. Once Donndubhán had decided if the Sterling coven deserved his skills and genius, he’d trade them Quinn. No dark witch worth her salt would pass up a chance for that kind of power.

  Chapter 11

  Evalle brushed her damp hair in front of her bathroom mirror, feeling more rested than she had in days. Steam boiled from behind her where Storm showered.

  Alone, or they’d never get out of the bedroom.

  If not for the other two in the front room and Adrianna expecting them in two and a half hours, Evalle would stay in here all day with Storm.

  But she had to make the most of her time while she waited to leave here under cover of darkness.

  Two hours should be long enough to figure out how to bring peace into this apartment.

  Evalle’s negotiating skills were as nonexistent as her culinary abilities, but everyone currently living here was dear to her, so she had to find a way to keep them all happy.

  As soon as she and Storm finished dressing, she’d help Lanna whip up something edible in the kitchen, because whatever Lanna didn’t know about cooking she made up for with her majik. It would be nice to know if she was a mage or a wizard, but Lanna’s mother didn’t know who Lanna’s father had been. The woman had disappeared just over eighteen years ago from her home in Transylvania, and when she’d shown up again she was pregnant, with no idea where she’d been.

  Lanna had displayed some scary power, but she was sweet in spite of being a busybody.

  Evalle stepped into the bedroom and smiled at the clothes thrown in every direction. Storm had been intent on getting naked last night and she’d loved every minute of it, plus another round of lovemakng this morning when she’d rolled over to find him watching her with a look of contentment on his face.

  She wanted to live with him.

  Was that too much to ask of the universe?

  Once everyone finished eating, Evalle would move Lanna and Feenix into the bedroom to watch movies so that Evalle and Storm could have the living room alone.

  If they tried to talk in here, they’d end up in bed.

  Not that she had any complaints about that, but nothing would get decided and she’d spend another day with this lead ball of worry rolling around in her stomach.

  She hated this feeling of being in limbo.

  Evalle hunted for a shirt in her banged-up, pressed-wood chest of drawers. She’d dug the piece out of the dump late one night, cleaned it up and painted it blue. The drawers worked.

  Wasn’t that the point?

  Pulling on one of her BDU shirts, her personal indulgence when she could find them in a vintage shop, she turned as she buttoned it.

  Storm stepped out of the bathroom, hair falling in straight black lines. He had that look on his face that said he’d picked up on her anxiety a moment ago.

  She brightened her expression and said, “I’m fine. Don’t give me that look.”

  “If you were really fine, I wouldn’t be giving you this look.”

  “I told you I’m thinking about things.”

  He lifted both eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Not that.”

  He stepped over and hooked a hand on her waist, pulling her forward possessively. Then he lowered his head. “I’m losing my touch if you’re not thinking about that.” Then he kissed her and sent heat into all the right areas of her body.

  “You proved your point,” she laughed against his lips. “I am thinking about that, but we don’t have time right this minute.” She put her hands on h
is chest, feeling the taut skin over hard muscle. “Time for coffee and breakfast.” The idea of cooking eggs and bacon terrified her, but Lanna had talked her through one almost successful attempt.

  The eggs had been rubbery and the bacon had turned out black. Not just done, but black.

  She’d pull it all off the heat sooner this time.

  She killed demons for crying out loud. She could cook a damn egg.

  She wanted to be the perfect mate and she had no idea where to start.

  Storm kissed her forehead. His brown eyes softened with a thought. “We need to sit down and talk today.”

  That dropped the lead ball of worry straight to her feet. Hadn’t she been thinking they needed to talk?

  Yes. So why the sudden panic?

  Because if she was honest with herself, she’d been hoping she was wrong about the weird tension and that he’d brush off her concern and Feenix would smile and be crazy about Storm and ... yes, that was all fantasy.

  Storm loved her and had always made it clear that he loved her just the way she was.

  But he’d never lived with her.

  He sighed and looked away.

  Before he could ask why she was upset again, which he would know with his empathic gift, she said, “We do need to talk. I know you aren’t happy with this arrangement—”

  His face whipped back to hers. “I didn’t say that.”

  Truth, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought it. She said, “Just get dressed and we’ll talk, okay?”

  He let out a long breath and kissed her on the cheek. “Okay.” Then he walked around, searching the room. “Where’s my belt?”

  She’d pulled out her socks and sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on. She looked around the room, too.

  She did not want to lose his belt, which should be easy to locate. It had a silver buckle carved as the head of a jaguar, with two yellow diamonds for eyes. Storm had once popped out a diamond to give her to use as the buy-in for a beast match. She’d questioned the value back then and he’d only said it was enough to get them what they wanted.

  She’d found out later the yellow diamonds were rare and ridiculously expensive, but the buckle? Priceless.