by Eve Langlais
“They say he’s the god of the forest, who takes the form of a boar to patrol and protect it.”
“Gods don’t exist,” Desmond said flatly. “Just males with mighty dreams.”
“Very true.” The king tossed his knife to the ground. “Shall we hunt?”
The party dispersed, the king and his guards in one direction, two more guests in another, leaving Erela with the two left behind to tend the camp and the Ifrit.
A male she was supposed to babysit.
She kept her lips pursed as she followed behind him, her disapproval hard to contain. He noticed.
“You are angry.”
“It was a foolish wager.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to lose your horse,” she blurted. “The king is an expert at catching boar in these woods.”
“Then I shall have to make sure mine is bigger. Let us find this Moccus.”
“Are you insane?” she hissed. “What part of avoid him did you not grasp?”
“I’m surprised you fear a wild animal.”
“I’m not scared. I just don’t want to deal with the repercussions of your death,” she muttered. He’d end up gored, and then she’d have to explain to her king, who would have to relay the circumstances to the Ha’el king how his son died.
“Such little faith. I assure you, a boar is nothing compared to the things I’ve fought. We train from a young age in my world.”
“Even heirs?”
“Especially heirs.” Desmond shot her a look. “Ours is the most dangerous existence of all. If we cannot protect ourselves from assassins, then we are not fit to rule.”
“That’s a tough life.”
“It is the reality of being an Ifrit born to the ruling class.”
“Is it true you can do dark magic?”
At that, he chuckled. “What makes my magic dark compared to yours?”
“I have no magic.”
That surprised him. His brows rose. “And yet you are part Babylonian.”
“Not everyone has magic.”
“Every Ifrit does. The purer the blood, the stronger the power.”
“Doesn’t the inbreeding weaken it?”
Again, he laughed. “We are very careful with whom we align. Records are kept to ensure the lineages aren’t too close. Although, mistakes are sometimes made. My cousin Jory is an example of why you should never marry at home.”
“I’ll never marry at all.” A declaration that emerged from nowhere.
“It must be hard to find a male worthy of your beauty.”
For some reason, the compliment brought heat to her cheeks. “No. That’s not it. More like no one wishes to marry a half-breed. I am only alive by the grace of my king.”
“We have similar laws in my world. I have a brother, a half-brother, that should have been fed to the hounds, but my father showed mercy and kept him.”
“It doesn’t seem right that a child is deemed unfit for the sins of their parents,” she remarked.
“I agree.” Desmond turned to face her, and her heart fluttered. He leaned close, and she held her breath.
He whispered, “Quiet now, we approach our prey.”
It wasn’t disappointment that pressed her lips into a thin line.
She followed behind him, silent, her every step calculated. She had her hand on the hilt of her sword, but he kept his bare and dangling by his side.
He halted and held up a hand just in time to prevent her from slamming into his back. She eased to the side to observe what stopped him. A small clearing appeared past the rim of trees, sun-dappled and green, the grass within verdant and spread with flowers.
Nuzzling the ground with its snout was a giant boar. The biggest Erela had ever seen, with a pair of wicked tusks curving on either side of its head.
The scars across its grayish hide showed its many victories in battle. The vaunted Moccus. A killer of men and women alike.
She put her hand on Desmond’s arm and shook her head. No matter his boasting, this wasn’t the beast to test his strength against.
Rather than retreat, he offered her a smile full of masculine charm, the kind that said, “Hold my ale while I go do something stupid.”
Before she could react, he slipped away, walking silently into the clearing. hands held out to his sides.
Where was his weapon?
It took the boar a moment to notice him. When it did, its small, beady eyes glared, and it tossed its head.
Unlike many, it didn’t paw the ground in warning, it simply charged the Ifrit interrupting his repast.
But at the last moment, the Ifrit moved with a sinuous grace that sent the boar stumbling past, snorting and snuffling. It flipped around and uttered a sound of annoyance before charging again, the tread of its four hooves and heavy body shaking the very ground.
Once more, Desmond waited and then flipped in the air, turning a somersault that seated him behind the boar’s head, legs on either side of the shoulders. He grabbed the beast in an arm-lock, which had the effect of sending the boar crashing to its side. It thrashed as it tried to crush the male on its back.
The Ifrit rolled free and kicked, the solid blow hitting the boar in the head.
It shook its head, stunned but not for long. It dipped its head and jabbed out with tusks, narrowly missing Desmond. The Ifrit grabbed hold on the second pass and strained, the muscles in his arms bulging his sleeves, his face tense with concentration.
It should have been an easy thing for the boar to escape. The weight and strength difference in the wild animal’s favor. And yet, bit by bit, Desmond forced the boar to the ground. Made it submit.
But the hatred in its eyes was clear. The second Desmond relented, it would try and gore the Ifrit to death.
The Ifrit wrenched the head while flipping his body to land on the top part of the boar’s spine. The finality meant the beast fell in slow motion.
Surprised it had been bested.
And with bare hands.
Desmond stood, one foot propped atop the body, and grinned.
Erela couldn’t help but smile back because that truly had been one of the most fascinating battles she’d ever seen.
A twang of string snapping was the only warning before the arrow came flying out of nowhere.
Nonchalant as you could please, Desmond lifted his hand and caught it. He glanced at the plain fletching on the shaft, then looked back at the woods. Without a word, he took off running through the forest. She quickly followed.
Who would dare shoot at a guest of the king? It was a good thing their aim was off, and the Ifrit’s reaction quick. If he hadn’t caught it, she would have been next in line to be hit.
They crashed through the underbrush, stealth lost to speed as they chased the archer. She glanced at Desmond and angled her head. He caught the silent message.
Splitting directions, they each angled a bit in the hopes of cutting off the attacker.
She was running so fast, she never suspected the pit which opened up under her feet. She crashed through the clever and concealed netting, falling several feet with a sharp cry of surprise.
She landed hard but didn’t break anything. A moment later, Desmond peered over the edge. “Are you injured?”
“Only my dignity,” she grumbled. “Don’t mind me. Don’t let that archer escape.”
“And what if he’s circling back? I am not leaving you here to be picked off.” He leaned down and frowned at the depth.
“I don’t see how you’re getting me out without a rope.”
“Who needs rope when you have magic.” He stood and twitched his hand at her.
A warm puff of air filled the space around her. She held in a gasp as her feet left the ground, and she floated up. Way up, past the lip of the pit where she hovered.
“Put me on the ground,” she demanded.
“If you insist.” Rather than drop her or float her to a solid footing, Desmond reached up and grabbed hold of her by the hips. He dragg
ed her down, close enough that she skimmed his body, an intimate act that made her breath catch.
He stopped before her feet touched the ground, leaving them at eye-level.
They both stared.
Not a word was said.
Nor did she move to stop him when he leaned close and claimed a kiss.
Calling it a mere kiss downplayed the heat and awareness that exploded at the contact. She forgot who he was. Why this was wrong.
She met his questing embrace with passion and parted lips. And might have gone much further that first time than a mere kiss if a voice calling from a distance hadn’t broken them apart.
But the damage was done. Like a drug, she’d gotten a taste and needed more.
“Penny for your thoughts.” The interruption sent her eyes flashing open to see Logan lounging against the kitchen island. Whereas she stood frozen by the sink, the glass she’d meant to fill with water still empty in her hand. Her lips tingled from the memory, making her wonder if she was foolish. Surely, she didn’t carry any affection for Desmond. Yet why the vivid recollection?
“Do you remember your first kiss?” she blurted.
Only a slight widening of his eyes showed Logan’s surprise. “Yes. Ginny Kettle, grade six. I traded her a piece of gum for a smooch.”
The rapid shake of her head went with her rushed words. “No. Not that first quick peck. Your first real kiss. The one where you felt something.” The kiss that buckled the knees and stole the breath and tilted the world on its axis.
“Men always feel something,” he said with a droll leer. “But if you mean a kiss with the first girl I fell for, then that would be Kelly. My grade-ten crush. I just about came in my pants when we made out under the bleachers.”
Her nose wrinkled. “You were still almost a child.”
“I was sixteen.”
“I was eighteen the first time a man tried.”
“Tried? Did he not succeed?”
She scowled. “No. He did it on a dare from his comrades. Almost lost his head for it, too.”
“So, who gave you your first real kiss?”
“As if you can’t guess.” She apparently couldn’t forget.
“You’ve only kissed one man?” He didn’t hide the surprise in his tone.
“Not just the one. I’ve kissed you. Kind of.” Then panicked. While kissing was the one thing Mammon and the demons never did to her, the intimacy still frightened.
“That wasn’t a kiss. And I’m going to guess if you’re asking, it’s because you remembered him.” His lips curled.
No point in denying it. “I do, and I don’t understand why.” Of all the memories to regain, why the one of a kiss? Just like why couldn’t she help but wonder if she would feel the same rush of passion and desire with another? Someone like Logan?
His appearance pleased. He cared for Adara, and she for him. Would kissing him erase the memory of Desmond?
He snapped his fingers. “You’re staring off into space again. Was the kiss that good?”
“I liked it.” Liked seemed so trite. It was the thing that invited her into a whole new world of sensuality.
“Liked it, and yet have no basis for comparison.” Logan stepped closer. “Would you like me to kiss you again? Give you a frame of reference.”
Would she?
She nodded.
He stepped even closer. Ran a finger down the side of her face. “You can say no anytime you want, and I’ll stop.”
Of course, he would. Logan was a good man. He would never hurt her, yet that didn’t stop her heart from racing as he drew closer. And closer.
Why did he move so slowly?
His hand cupped her cheek as his lips softly brushed hers, drawing a feminine gasp.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She gave him a silent nod for assent.
He pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, slanting them and claiming in a way that ignited her blood.
She trembled, but not in fear. Arousal stirred itself, and she found herself returning the kiss, tugging at Logan’s lips with her own, reveling in the hot mesh of their breaths, the touch of their bodies.
When his hand reached down to cup her bottom and pull her more firmly against him, she sighed, “Desmond.”
She wasn’t the only one to freeze. She was, however, the first to recover from the shock.
She shoved Logan away before fleeing to her room, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. She closed her eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
Here she thought she’d have to battle her memories of the rape when it came to getting close to someone. Instead, it was the love she’d lost that haunted her most of all.
She needed to talk to someone about it. Someone who would listen and maybe understand.
I need a shrink.
Chapter Seven
The knock at the door made Titus frown. For one, he didn’t expect anyone. For two, the rap, while firm, held no hint of anything…otherly, and by that, he meant no ominous heaviness to the air. The house didn’t shake on its foundation. None of his alarms went off.
None of them, which was cause for concern. Titus had wards to prevent intrusions.
And yet, there was someone at the door.
As for the third thing that had him frowning? The fact that he no longer had a manservant to reply. Despite all the demon’s apologies and bribing, Stefan remained persona non grata given his betrayal. Feeding his lord from Ha’el information. Spying on Titus for someone else.
The knowledge of it burned, mostly because he’d trusted the incubus. How stupid he felt now.
“Logan,” he shouted. “Make yourself useful and get the door.” The dog should earn his keep, given he’d more or less taken up residence in Titus’s new home—new because a certain demon burned down his last one.
“Get the door your fucking self.” Logan slinked into view and leaned against the doorframe of Titus’s office. “I ain’t one of your minions you can order around.”
“No, but you are supposed to be guarding. Whoever knocks shouldn’t be here.” Because he’d informed no one of his new address. And still, none of the wards guarding this place had been activated.
“Think it’s Desmond trying to woo Adara back?” The Ifrit was the only person, other than Logan’s pack, who knew they were here.
Titus shook his head. “You can feel his energy signature a mile off. Nor is it one of yours.” The dogs didn’t knock, they just walked right in. Rude, but then again, what could one expect from a canine. Perhaps Titus should have a doggy door installed for them.
They might have kept arguing about everything and nothing had they not heard the skip of light steps on the stairs and a shouted, “Someone’s at the door. I’ll get it.”
“Don’t!” was the echoed shout. Differences forgotten, they struggled to reach Adara before she pulled open the portal.
They probably looked quite ridiculous, Logan barreling full-tilt down the hall, not quite on four legs, yet loping more beast than man. Logan’s shirt began to bulge as his wolf struggled to free itself from skin.
Titus followed quickly, not quite running, but walking faster than was seemly for a vampire his age.
Let Logan reach Adara first, he could provide the first line of defense while Titus evaluated the situation.
What could approach his house with such impunity? Obviously, something with strong magic to hide its presence, or had the witch sold him defective wards?
The door swung wide, Adara blithely standing in front of it. She wasn’t immediately riddled with bullets. No sword suddenly emerged bloody from her back. Nor did a fireball engulf her in flame.
Logan abruptly halted, catching a glimpse of the person paying a visit, Titus’s step slowed.
Dr. Kyla Bevin, a shapely black woman with hair framing her face in a wild halo that went well with her tiger-striped glasses. Her full lips tempted, a glossy and wet crimson sheen, the color of fresh blood. Her skin shone with vitality, the col
or deep and smooth. Her crimson-colored business attire of a shirt tucked into a skirt fitted to every curve.
How had Titus not noticed her hourglass shape the last time they’d met?
Could be he was more disturbed by other things at the time.
Distracted by a certain fragile woman.
He wasn’t distracted now. The doctor looked more than attractive.
She is quite delicious.
And very out of place given that Adara’s former psychiatrist should have had no clue about their location.
Former being the key word there. Titus had had Stefan wipe the doctor’s mind after a group of demons attacked Dr. Bevin and Adara during a session in the doctor’s office. Dr. Bevin, who looked more like a sultry Kyla right now than a clinical psychiatrist, hadn’t taken it too well. Finding out her patient’s demons were real and not figments of her tormented mind proved too much to handle.
Stefan took all those memories away, and Adara stopped seeing her doctor after that so as not to jog her memories.
Which begged the question: what was Kyla doing here?
“Dr. Bevin, how nice of you to make a house call on such short notice.” Adara solved the mystery as she gestured for her to enter.
“I’ll admit I was surprised to hear from you,” the doctor stated, stepping in, her high heels—also red—drawing attention to the shapely curve of her calves. “It’s been months since our last session.”
Months to Kyla, but in reality, it had only been a few weeks given the memory adaptations.
Logan, lacking manners and in need of a training zap collar, barked, “You invited her? Here? To the house. With us?”
It almost made Titus sigh. The pooch lacked any kind of subtlety.
Adara turned from the door, the porchlight shining upon her, causing her platinum tresses to glow. The ethereal appearance jarred. “Yes, I invited her. I didn’t have a choice since I needed to talk to her. Poor doctor. Some vandals completely destroyed her office. They’re still renovating.”
The vandals being some demons who probably weren’t covered by the lovely doctor’s insurance.
“No office means I’ve gone mobile.” Kyla stepped in farther, enough so Adara could close the door, and every single warning bell Titus owned went off in his head.