by Michele Hauf
“Your saffron petals tell you anything about us?”
“No, only that a warlock is present in my life.”
“Grim.” He sighed. “Because of me.”
“Do you think he’ll come after me to get to you? Is he after you?”
“I suspect so. I sensed a push against my wards right after the accident, and then the following day. If Grim obtained some of my blood, he would be able to track me down but, ultimately, wouldn’t have been able to breech my wards.”
“The blood on the dashboard.”
He nodded. “But he has nothing of yours and shouldn’t be aware of our connection, so the petal reading baffles me. Are you sure you’re not aware of any other warlocks in your or Libby’s life?”
“Trust me, I do not consort with the like.”
“Didn’t think so. It could be a vague reference to my parents, though they’re totally out of the picture. And now that Grief is gone, I’m feeling oddly at peace with their sins.”
“I’m glad you got that. You shouldn’t have to suffer for the things your parents did. But still, there be demons.”
“Indeed.” He stroked her neck, playing with her hair. “What the book said about the ranking of demons. It could serve to our advantage if we have to enact the Night March.”
“I don’t want to think about it, but I know it’s important that we do. I trust you, Certainly Jones.”
Vika yawned and fell asleep, her ear pressed to his chest, the soft rhythm of his heartbeats lulling her to Nod.
Chapter 20
CJ had left at sunrise with a kiss and mention he was heading to his brother’s house.
Libby tended the garden out back, humming the theme from some overhyped love song Vika had heard far too many times on the radio. Her sister was in love, and such emotion manifested in an amazing aura that literally tilted the flower heads toward her as she walked by them. Touching a white rose made the blossom grow thicker, the core of it tinting deep red, and Libby smiled at the result.
Vika, on hands and knees, with rubber gloves and kneepads on, swept the scrub brush over the tile kitchen floor. It was as though she were trying to rub out the soul bringer’s existence as she forced the brush over the places where he had stood holding her sister in a death grip.
“Maybe I’m jealous,” she muttered, and sat back, dropping the brush in the bucket of vinegar and lemon water.
Not a single thing to be jealous over. Besides, she had her own man. As dark and troubled as he was.
She had dived headfirst into this adventure with Certainly, thinking more of the high she’d get from cleaning him up than the real possibility she might actually fall for the guy. And now that she had, life had become remarkable and miserable. She wanted the romance and passion and closeness, but she did not want the demons, dark magic and threats from the soul bringer. Nor did she want to see the world overrun with demons courtesy some macabre Night March.
Would it be wrong to bail from the relationship in hopes to save her sister and herself from Reichardt’s wrath?
“I can’t do that.” She wrapped her gloved hands about her upper arms and leaned against the door frame, Libby’s spectacular communion with the flowers in sight. “I do love him.”
She admired CJ’s intelligence and all the magics he had learned over the years. He was a calm and thoughtful man, despite his obvious inner struggles. He thought of others before himself more often than not, though any man was allowed a few selfish hang-ups, such as a decades-long testosterone-fueled battle against a warlock.
Physically he moved with such ease through the world. Grounded wherever he stood, strong with muscles yet even more powerful with wisdom and magic.
But what she loved most about Certainly Jones was his ability to survive, even when the worst struck.
Love involved more than the romance, passion and closeness. It involved sticking it out through thick and thin, seeing beyond the bad to the light on the other side. Even if that light was obnoxious and glittered madly. She’d never look at a chandelier the same again.
Salamander meowed, but he did not move from the living room doorway, where she had begun scrubbing and the floor was still wet. Wise cat. He’d never been so thoughtful of her hard work while in human form. Some men were born animals, she decided with a smirk.
“My relationships have never been outstanding,” she noted, woefully at a loss over what, if anything, she could ever do to make Sal’s life better. As far as she knew, he was simply a cat now and did not have memories of his mortal life. She hoped.
“But the nun’s life is not for me. Better to have excitement and danger than boring and mellow, yes?”
Salamander looked away, unconcerned with her emotional struggles. An animal through and through.
CJ’s suggestion she convince the war demon to slaughter all the demons raised upon inciting the Nacht März was a clever idea. And she had no doubt the demon was capable. But did she have the courage to stand up to War? Could she influence the demon to do her bidding? She’d withstood Menace, Pain, Lust and even Grief. A little war shouldn’t be so difficult.
With a heavy sigh, she sunk against the door frame. The sky was bright, and she imagined CJ must be out enjoying the light. She hoped he was but knew he was probably stooped over his worktable, concocting spells, searching for some means to solve this problem.
“He needs to relax. He’s the world on his shoulders, or rather, in his soul. He needs someone to...”
Support him. He needed her.
Vika sat up. Why wasn’t she there at his side? When the man most needed her strength, she had opted to stay home and clean?
Tugging off the rubber gloves, she stood and left the bucket and gloves where they lay. Narrowly avoiding a trip from Salamander, Vika headed out the front door. She couldn’t let him go through this himself. Love was stronger than that.
* * *
CJ tucked his cell phone in a pocket and looked out across the fifth quarter of Paris from the rooftop. The Luxembourg gardens put up a frothy green canopy not far off. TJ had no ideas for how to solve his problem, though he was going to think on it. He shouldn’t ask his brother’s help. He had begun a family and should not be asked to risk his life now.
A raven soared overhead and landed on an electrical line, cocking its head to take in CJ. “You think I should listen to the red witch?” he asked, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
Vika had suggested he bring Grim in on the matter. Ridiculous. And yet, keeping one’s enemy close was never stupid.
“Hell.” He closed his eyes, tilting back his head. Sunlight bled across his skin, but he still felt cold. Worthless.
Unworthy of her trust, which she seemed to give so freely. And each time she did, he bruised that trust, or shot it all to hell. What was he doing wrong? Why could he not step up to the challenge of Viktorie St. Charles and successfully accomplish the task?
“Vika,” he muttered, sending her name out through the ether. “I want to be deserving of your love.”
* * *
CJ stepped down from the roof stairs and into the sixth-floor hallway just as Vika reached his door. “Vika.”
“I couldn’t stay away.”
“I was hoping you’d sense my thoughts. I drew you to me.”
“I won’t argue that.”
A smear of grease dashed his jaw and he was shirtless. The muscles on that witch were commendable. Witchcraft did work more than the mind. Add the surprising allure of the tattoos, and she was a lovesick fool. Now Vika knew why she had stayed away. Because near him she lost all sense and simply wanted to kiss him, hold him, touch him. Become a part of him.
“What’s got you so smiley?” he asked.
“Just admiring the sexy view.”
He preened a hand down his abs, seeming to take her comment with surprise.
“Think I should get a tattoo?” she asked teasingly.
“Maybe my name on your gorgeous derriere?”
“Would that
make you happy?”
“It would surprise the hell out of me to find a mark on your perfect skin. And one with my name? So wrong.”
“Or maybe so right. I could sit on you whenever I chose.”
He chuckled.
“You fix the generator?”
“Tip-top shape now. Sometimes I amaze myself with my mechanical ability. TJ is usually the one who fixes things. So, I thought you said you needed to keep an eye on Libby. Did you bring her along?”
She tugged him to her, and he slid his hands over her hips. “Libby is under a powerful spell that can’t be uncast.”
“Love,” CJ whispered, savoring the tone of it.
“Yes, love. It’s a condition I’m familiar with of late.”
“I like the condition.”
“And I didn’t want you sitting alone muddling over the dire consequences the world has forced upon you.”
“I don’t want to worry you with this stuff, Vika.”
“Yes, well, a part of being in a relationship is knowing when to let the other person worry.”
He leaned in and whispered at her ear, “Relationship?”
“We have both dropped the L-word. I think that implies a relationship. Can you deal with that, dark one?”
“I think I can, Sybarite of My Soul. Let’s go inside. I have to wash this grease off.”
“Probably you should shower,” she said, following him inside and strolling under the spectacular glitter of the prismatic light.
“You think I smell?”
“No.” She drew a finger along his cheek, avoiding the grease. “But if you need help, you know...reaching the hard places.” She slid her hand down, over his erection.
“I think I do. Temptress.”
* * *
Relationship. The word felt like elixir to his brain as CJ soaped up under the warm shower stream. Actually, he wasn’t doing the soaping. Vika’s fingers glided over his skin, caressing his muscles and slicking his arms and thighs. Vetiver, earthy and astringent, drifted into his senses and dizzied his thoughts. Now was no time for concentration. Now—
He let out a deep, satisfied moan as Vika’s mouth slipped over the swollen head of his erection. And he’d avoided relationships for what insane reason?
He slid his fingers down her slick hair and gripped the top of the shower bar with his other hand. She was a master at bringing him to climax. When he could no longer hold back the tremendous wave surging toward explosion, CJ cried out.
His wicked mistress slid up his body. “That’s my own form of watersexmagic,” she said.
“You can practice it on me anytime you like, Mistress of the Magical Tongue.” He kissed her wet mouth. “Now it’s my turn.”
He waggled his tattooed fingers at her, and she kissed the tips of each one then placed his hand over her slick, hard nipple. He had but to tap them lightly, focusing on heightening the sensual energy beneath his touch and driving it into her skin.
Vika moaned loudly and bit into his shoulder. The pleasurable pain signaled he was gaining experience with skin magic. Sliding his fingers down her slick belly, he teased her sensual peak until she came gently in his embrace, a sigh honoring his skills.
* * *
After the shower, they dried off then wandered, naked, to the couch to snuggle in each other’s arms wrapped beneath a blanket.
“Thanks for being here for me,” CJ said as Vika snuggled against his bare chest and twirled a finger through the dark hairs queued down his belly to his, once again, erect penis. “It means a lot. I realize I had no clue what I was missing over the years. This being together, holding you and feeling your skin against mine—I don’t know how I survived so long without it.”
“I know you said you’ve been monkish, but you’ve had lovers over the years?”
“Sure, but nothing serious. I don’t know that I’ve ever sat on the couch with a woman and just held her, smelled her hair, felt her heart beat against my chest. This is awesome. Better than any magic I could conjure.”
“How many magics have you mastered?”
“Haven’t counted. I can do lithoboly, levitation, transprojectionary dislocation, catoptromancy, allotriophagy—”
“The allotriophagy disturbs me.”
“Yes, but you would be surprised how useful it is to cause someone to vomit up nails or beetles.”
“Don’t ever use it on me.”
He kissed her nose. “The only magic I want to wield against you is the warm, fuzzy kind I’m feeling right here.” He slid her hand over his heart. “I can’t believe I’m talking like this. Such words shouldn’t be natural to a guy who has avoided connection with another person for so long. You’ve put a spell on me, I know it.”
“I don’t believe in love spells. Such false love could never be true.”
“I agree. Mmm, I love you.”
She stroked his erection. No pressure, just soft, sweeping strokes. He could waver back and forth between the ridiculous pleasure of it and their quiet conversation.
“So about your idea of me speaking to War,” she said without stopping her ministrations. “I’ll do it if you think it will work.”
“Really? It could work. And I trust you’re strong enough to handle the situation. Thing is, do I want to put you at risk?”
“I don’t think we have any other option, do you?”
“Other than handing over your souls to Reichardt? I don’t want that for you, Vika. Trust me, coming from a man whose soul is as dirty and dark as they get, I don’t want that for you.”
“Yes, but at least you have a soul. Would it take long for me to...change, should I lose my soul?”
He hugged her and nuzzled his face into her wet hair. She clasped him firmly. “We’re not going to consider it because we’ll try plan A at first sign of daylight.”
“Talk to War?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
With a nod, she resumed her strokes, and within moments brought him to a rousing orgasm.
Chapter 21
Vika walked around the salt circle. The smell of brimstone prickled at her determination, but she maintained composure. Trapped within the circle was her lover. CJ’s body craned forward, his shoulders cutting through a beam of sunlight that marred the dark ritual. With an unnatural jerk, he straightened, thrusting back his shoulders and lifting his chin. He seemed to take on muscle, bulk and command. Vika knew it was an illusion of demonic possession.
“Who are you?” she asked firmly.
“War,” growled out in sepulchral tones from her lover’s mouth. “Let me out, witch.”
She waggled a finger at the demon. “I want to talk to you first.”
“I don’t deal. I walk or no talk.”
“Then I guess we’ll stand and stare at one another, shall we?”
The demon lashed toward her with clawed fingers, which scraped the invisible wall warded about CJ’s body. It would hold strong unless the salt line was smeared to break the circle. After her experience with Want, she would not again do that.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Vika picked at a nonexistent fleck of lint on her dress sleeve, made a point of exaggerating her yawn, and tilted her head wonderingly at the man she loved, but whom at this moment she feared. Mustn’t show that fear.
It was more worry than fear, actually. If she could exorcise this demon right now she would, but they needed it more than she wanted to get rid of it.
“The dark witch is wise to keep you for his woman,” the demon growled. “You are strong. Tight. We can feel you when he is inside you. So hot. Your moans stir us all.”
Despite how uncomfortable that information made her, she did not flinch, not even when the demon revealed his teeth, which seemed to have grown longer and pointed. Could an incorporeal demon affect her vision of its host? Possibly.
And that was a good thing. She’d never be able to face the demon were he the easygoing, gorgeous man with whom she had fallen in love.
Long minutes passed with her
pacing and War glowering at her from inside the circle. Black candles flickered beneath the unlit chandeliers. So bright, too, the sun. The demon was patient. She was more so.
Overhead, the crystals tinkled softly, as if wind were sifting through them, but there were no open windows. The clatter rose, and she realized the demon was doing it. It possessed great power—beyond CJ’s magic. But not enough to harm her while it was contained. She hoped.
“You want your freedom?” she asked. “You must strike a bargain between me and Certainly Jones.”
The demon lifted his chest and looked down Certainly’s long, narrow nose at her.
“I’ve a war for you,” she proposed. “Tomorrow night.”
“The Nacht März the dark witch controls?” The demon scoffed. “That is not a war but merely a massacre of innocent, unprepared mortals. It offers no challenge, no sides standing against one another, no return fire.”
True, but she had to work with what had been provided.
“No mortals will be harmed if you do the job we request of you.”
“Which is?”
“Annihilate any and all demons called forth to the march.”
Certainly tilted his head, mouth open in an uncomfortable grimace.
“Does not the satisfaction reaped through destruction and murder fulfill you? You are a knight of Daemonia,” she said, appealing to the demon’s elite breed and CJ’s suggestion he would consider himself greater than the demons treading this mortal realm. “Would you not care to annihilate so many demons who walk this realm, some claiming lineage from Daemonia, when we know they are but lowly maggots?”
That sparked red light in the demon’s dark gaze. Gone were CJ’s jade eyes; they were now actually black. He nodded, his breath growing raspy with desire. CJ’s fists clenched tightly. “You want me to slay them all? I can do that.”
“I know you can. I would not have come to you with such a challenge did I not believe you could. You and...perhaps Pain?”
The demon’s lip flinched. He rubbed a fist down CJ’s bare torso, dragging the silver-laden werewolf spell to a distorted curve. She risked losing War by implying he needed help. But the more demons involved—even if contained in but the one witch—the better.