No Rest for the Wicca

by Toni LoTempio

  “Well, a psychic witch didn’t have them. I’m only—“

  He held up his hand. “I know, I know. You’re half-Wiccan. Raised by a bokor. Don’t worry, the voodoo didn’t rub off on you.”

  “I know,” I muttered.

  “I meant bad voodoo,” Cole amended. “You beat yourself up over what happened, but have you ever considered why it might have? There’s too much good in you, Morgan, to invoke evil spells.”

  I raised my gaze to meet his. “Even when the evil spell would have stopped a madman?”

  “Even then.”

  I took a breath. “Well, I paid the price, didn’t I? I thought I could entrap Zeke Chowling—or the Zombie Master, as he liked to be called. I thought I could take a page from my father’s book, thought I could master the gris-gris, throw Zeke’s own spells back at him. It backfired, all right. Who paid the price? April, caught in the crossfire. April, ended up turned into the very monster we sought to destroy. And in the ensuing melee she ended up getting burned to death, while Zeke got away to lick his wounds and fight another day. Bastard still hasn’t been caught.”

  “The gris-gris combines black and white magic. You thought you could harness them both, turn the forces against Zeke. But you forgot the main rule of Wicca, Morgan. The reason you failed.”

  “Harm no one,” I choked out. “You’re right. I did. I harmed April.”

  “No,” Cole put his finger against my lips. “You didn’t. You told her what you were going to do, and April could have backed down, let you go it alone. She wouldn’t desert her partner. Zeke harmed her. Zeke used the backlash from your spell to turn April into a zombie, not you.”

  My eyes filed with tears, threatened to overflow. “Can’t you understand?” I cried. “It’s still my fault. If I hadn’t thought I could master the gris-gris, If I hadn’t been so cocky, she’d still be alive.”

  “Would she? Zeke could have just as easily gotten both of you. The gris-gris protected you, at least.”

  “Yeah. Harm no one. I’m a disgrace to my badge, to my heritage, to myself.”

  “Only because you think you are. You’re not.”

  “And what do you know!” I exploded. “You weren’t there.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “But I have eyes. I can see. And what I see is a tormented girl, who’s trying to shoulder a burden and bring another killer to justice to atone for the life she believes she cost her partner and her friend.” He pulled me closer. “Your mixed spell didn’t work because that type of voodoo went against the very core of Wiccan belief. You see, I don’t believe there can be a happy medium between them.”

  I stared at him, into his black eyes shining ever darker now, with apparent desire. “How can you know me so well? How do you know what to say to make me feel better?”

  His arm shot out, encircled my waist. “I think you’re a person worth knowing, Morgan Hawkes. And if you’d dispense with all the banter and view me seriously for a moment, you’d realize I am too.”

  I curled my hands in the lapels of his shirt. “Not good,” I shook my head.

  “What’s not good?”

  “Mixing business and pleasure. We work together. Not good. It’s a line we shouldn’t cross.”

  He laughed, a sound deep in his chest. “And just what do you think will happen if we step over the line?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. A bolt of lightning will come out of the sky, maybe, do us in?”

  “Not bloody likely,” he muttered, and his mouth came crashing down on mine.

  My arms went round him, involuntarily, as if they had a will of their own. My fingers dove into his thick black morass of hair, our bodies slammed together as the kiss grew hot, hotter, bordered on brutal. His hot, vicious mouth brought a delicious flare of warmth straight to my center.

  His hands tugged at my shirt, pulled it from the waistband of my pants. His long fingers stroked at the sensitive flesh exposed. I twisted away, breath shuddering in my lungs, hands splayed across his chest.

  “Cole,” I gasped. “We can’t. It’s only another day until he strikes again. We have to—“

  “We have to do this. Now, right now,” he muttered. “Killers be damned.” With one fluid motion, he scooped me up, carried me the few yards into his bedroom, where he deposited me on his king-sized bed as if I weighed no more than a feather. In the pale lamplight, I saw the bed rested on a platform, facing a massive picture window. In a fireplace directly across, wood sizzled.

  “Cole,” I said, and in the next instant he’d pulled my shirt over my head, flung it across the room. He fumbled with the straps on my bra and it followed the shirt. His dark head bent, he flicked his tongue across my nipples, already pink and swollen with desire. He lifted his head, and I caught a gleam of triumph in those black eyes.

  “You want me,” he rasped. “Admit it.”

  “I don—oh, hell, what’s the use.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, rolled on top of him and fastened my mouth to his. My need for release was suddenly driving and fierce. He peeled my pants, flicked them across the room, and removed his own. A moment later we were both totally naked, entwined on top of his satin comforter.

  “This,” I wheezed, “Is entirely against my better judgment.”

  “Has anyone ever remarked on the fact you talk way too much?” he growled. “Judgment be damned.” And he lowered his head again, took my breast into his mouth. I writhed against him as he suckled at it, my hands twining in his hair as shudder after shudder of exquisite pleasure coursed through me. My eyes glazed over. He pressed his palm against the mound between my legs. He slid his finger down, over me, into me. The sensation was liquid hot, and we both groaned together as he found me, hot, wet, and tight. His head came up, and I caught the look of surprise in his eyes.

  “Never before,” he murmured.

  “No,” I whispered against his shoulder. “You’re the first. First ever.”

  “A virgin,” he murmured again. “You’re what? Twenty-one? Two?”

  “You know full well I’m twenty-five,” I gasped. “Does it matter?”

  He smiled. “Darling Morgan, no. Not to me.”

  I fisted my hand in his hair. “Do it. Please. Please.”

  He dragged me up so I knelt, my head on his shoulder. “Are you certain?”

  I reared my head back. “Cole, if you stop now—dammit, you really are a bastard!”

  He laughed again, and bent, his incisors lightly grazing my neck. “You’ve got to stop with all this sweet talk.” He tilted my face to his. “Don’t worry. It was just a nip. I would never—do that to you.”

  I stared into his eyes, into what I saw there. “I know,” I murmured.

  My hands raced over him, my body arched forward. He lifted my hips, ground himself against me. I felt a little pop! A giant wave of desire washed over me, and I thought I would drown, drown, in those black eyes, as Cole and I rode a wave of pleasure together…

  ***

  At first Margit thought it all a bad dream. Her head spun, and when she tried to lift it, she found she couldn’t move. Panic rushed in. Her hands were bound. Feet too. A vague, faraway pain nipped her as the leather bit into her wrists and ankles. Breath sobbed out of her as she struggled.

  She managed to turn her head. Shadows sifted through the room, which didn’t appear to be very big. She saw a tripod with gleaming candles at one end, and a door at the other. The door opened, and a figure stepped out. She gasped as it approached. It wore a mask, the head of a boar.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  The figure murmured some words in an intelligible dialect Margit had never heard. Latin? No, not that. She wasn’t sure. She struggled against the leather, only served to make her limbs ache more. “Let me go,” she hissed.

  The figure bowed its head and melted back into the shadows.

  She whipsawed her head around, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of another figure entering the chamber. He wore a long black robe with a hood pulled
low to mask his face, and he carried a small silver bowl in one hand, a thick black candle in the other. He set the bowl underneath her chin, the candle between her thighs. Embarrassed, she twisted her head away.

  “Don’t be shy, my dear,” the figure murmured. The voice was low, guttural, and yet Margit felt she’d heard it somewhere before. “Your body holds no sexual excitement for me,” he continued. “No, anything I feel is of a different nature. Much different.”

  He placed his hand on her leg. “You are about to become part of a wondrous ritual—a ritual that will honor our Supreme goddess and free the Great One, and rain blessings upon those who follow him. Your part is very important, my dear. Look upon this as a sort of…reward.” He bent low, and whispered in her ear, “You sent those little clues to the Special Forces, we know that. I imagine you thought yourself very clever, using your aunt’s access code.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Who are you? Graft? Morrow? I know more than you think. I know all about your little club that honors the black lwa. You’re making a big mistake. If you free me, I—I can help you.”

  “Too late for that, I’m afraid.” He stepped back, withdrew an ivory-handled athame from the folds of his robe. It glinted in the flickering light of the candles. He held the knife poised over her chest. “There is a way you can be free.”

  “What?” she cried. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  His hand caressed her cheek again. “First, you must never speak of what has transpired here.”

  She swallowed, nodded. “No. Never.”

  “Second—you must turn the book over to us.”

  “Book?” Her eyes clouded, then suddenly brightened. “My book of spells? It’s in my locker at school. It’s yours,” she rasped. “Take the damn thing.”

  The hooded figure shook his head. “Not your book. You took a similar one from Florrie’s room, did you not?”

  Fear flickered for a moment in her eyes, and she twisted her face away from his. “I—no. I don’t know what you mean.”

  He grabbed her chin, turned her back to face him. He held the knife just under her throat. “You know full well what I mean. You saw that woman give Florrie the book that day, and you recognized it, because you’d seen a picture of it in the notes your aunt had taken home to transcribe. You recognized it—you knew its rarity, the fact it’s one of only three copies in existence. What’s more, you knew what it contained.”

  He pressed the knife harder against her flesh. Breath wheezed out of her. “S—spells. Ancient spells. Dangerous ones.”

  His lips curved upward. “Indeed. Master them, and you would be one powerful witch, wouldn’t you? A force to be reckoned with. You recognized its worth, and you took it from Florrie.”

  “No.” She twisted her head back. He removed the knife, and a feeling of relief surged through her. She met his gaze. “I did see her give Florrie the book. She told her you wanted it, you needed it to research some ancient spells for your paper. It’s true, I did break into their room. I knew Florrie always kept her valuables either under her mattress or in the cedar box in her closet, but—the book wasn’t’ there. I didn’t find it.”

  He twirled the knife in his hand so the point of the blade rested against his chin. “You don’t have it, then?” he murmured.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t. She probably gave it to that insipid roommate of hers for safekeeping,” Margit burst out. “Dru probably has it. Hell, she probably knows what’s in it too. If Florrie figured it out, she’d have told her. She confided everything in her. Spare me, and I’ll—I’ll get it for you.”

  She turned her head as a flash of movement alerted her, and her eyes widened as another robed figure emerged from the shadows, hood pulled low over its head as well.

  “A pity,” the newcomer intoned. “The book might have saved you, but now…it’s your misfortune to have the blood, my dear. Or the good fortune, depending on how one looks at it.”

  The second figure moved around to the other side of Dorrie, and pulled a silver knife from beneath his robe. He pointed the sharp blade at her throat. “Too much time has been wasted. Now, we will begin.”

  Chapter 17

  I lay on the bed in the dark, listening to Cole’s even breathing, and sighed. What could I say now? I’d just done something totally inappropriate.

  Yet, I’d never enjoyed anything more in my entire life.

  I propped myself on one elbow and looked at the man slumbering beside me. I reached out, traced the outline of his jaw with my fingertip. I’d often wondered how my first time would be—wondered just sort of man it would be I’d give myself up to. I never, in a thousand lifetimes, would have expected it would be a dark, brooding Inheritor vampire with a tongue almost as sharp as my own. Well, now I could definitely agree with those who’d said sex with an Inheritor was an unforgettable experience…except for the fact I’d now created a potentially awkward situation. Once again, I’d blundered in, eyes wide open. And, as per usual, I’d have to suffer the inevitable consequences.

  I slid off the platform bed, moved slowly through the darkened room. I was hesitant to put on any lights, to waken him. Just grab my clothes, get dressed and get out. That’s it. I’ll face him later.

  “What are you doing?”

  My head snapped up. Cole towered over me, completely naked. I managed to drag my gaze away from his magnificent body and ease a hip onto one corner of the bed, sheet wrapped tightly around me.

  “I was—I was looking for my clothes.”

  One eyebrow went up. “What for? It’s early yet.”

  “I know, but…I should leave.”

  Something flashed in those black eyes. Hurt? “Why? In a few hours we’ll have to report for work. You might as well stay, get a good rest.”

  I tugged at a stray ebony strand. “I can’t go to class in the same clothes I wore yesterday,” I stammered. “It—it won’t look right.”

  “Do you really think anyone will notice?”

  I turned my head, ran my finger along the edge of the sheet. “Cole, most of the students are girls. Believe me, they’ll notice.”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Far be it from me to offend your sensibilities. We’ll stop by your house so you can change.”

  “But Xia—“

  He pressed one long finger against my lips. “I rather think your cousin would applaud what we did here last night. She strikes me as a very modern, very broad-minded girl.”

  I pulled the sheet more tightly around myself. “She is, but—not as broad minded as one might think.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Has she something against vampires?”

  “Not that I know of.” My tongue darted out, wiped a bead of sweat from my upper lip. “But I doubt even she’d approve of this.”

  One eyebrow arched. “Of our making love?”

  “Of my having sex with a co-worker.”

  “Ah.” He eased himself on the bed next to me, turned my face up to his. “And there we have it in a nutshell, don’t we. It’s not Xia’s opinion you’re worried about—it’s your own feelings of impropriety.”

  I tried to jerk away from him, but he held my chin cupped in his palm. “You know as well as I,” I ground out, “something like this between two people working closely together—well, it can get sticky.”

  “Yes, it can. But we won’t let it. We’re professionals.”

  “How can you be so sure? How can you know something won’t happen to set us at odds?”

  He laughed. “My dear Morgan, we’ve been at odds since we first laid eyes on each other. Nothing in that respect has changed.”

  “But our relationship has changed, and you know it.” I squirmed in his grasp. He released his hold on my chin, but linked his fingers with mine. “I-I don’t have sex with co-workers.”

  “If we’re being honest, you’ve never had sex with anyone,” he said softly. “Last night was your first time.”

  I lowered my gaze. “All the more reaso
n why this is a bad idea.”

  “I see.” He lifted his hands, palms outward. “I don’t want to fight with you over this.”

  “Good. Then we understand each other.”

  I started to gather the sheet around me, and Cole suddenly sprang upward, grabbed me and yanked me back upon the bed. I clawed, I nipped, I pounded against his chest, all to no avail as I found myself pinned under his weight.

  “I don’t think you understand at all, Morgan,” He said. “When we made love last night, I considered it a rather profound experience. I rather hoped you regarded it in the same way.”

  “It’s hard for me to know what to feel,” I rasped, “seeing as I’d never done this before.”

  He put his hand across my mouth. “First off, there is a vast difference between just having sex and making love. If you were more experienced, you’d realize this. Second, I’m not a man who takes liaisons lightly. I’ve not had feelings for women too often in my lifetime—least of all a Wiccan.”

  “Half-Wiccan.”

  “You are starting to sound like a broken record.” He rolled off my chest and I sat up. “You know in spite of yourself, you’re a fascinating woman, Morgan Hawkes.”

  I stared at him. “I am?”

  “Yes. You are. You with your guileless good looks, your cool green eyes, your impenetrable wall of resistance. I don’t really know why I am attracted to you, but I am. I’d like to see where it all leads. I don’t believe our working relationship will be compromised one teeny bit, but if you feel uneasy about it—say the word, and I’ll withdraw from the case.”

  My eyes widened. “You wouldn’t?”

  His black eyes were intense. “I would, if this upsets you so much. It’s your call.”

  I scowled. “Damn you, Cole, just when I’m trying so very hard to hate you, you turn all noble on me. It’s just not fair.”

  He chucked his finger under my chin. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  I toyed absently with an errant strand of hair. “I can’t lay all the blame on you. What happened was partly my fault.”