Jackson

by Hazel Hunter

  He twined his fingers in her soft tresses and guided her into the rhythm that most pleased him. It took all his self control not to thrust hard into her mouth as her head bobbed over him, her lips sliding up and down his girth as she lashed him with her tongue and suckled his tip. When she began to take more of his length into her mouth she choked a little, and he tilted her head back to a better angle, rubbing his thumb along her jaw until she relaxed it.

  “Like that, yes,” he said as she took him again.

  He grunted with pleasure as he felt the end of her nose brush his body hair, and panted when she drew back with a particular slow, sensuous languor. The need to come soon pounded inside him as his balls tightened and his buttocks clenched, but he grimly held onto the last shreds of his self-control as he caressed the back of her head.

  Audrey seemed to sense his need, for she increased the speed and depth with which she took him, drawing more firmly and using her tongue to rub harder at his shaft. When he felt the first surge coming he tried to push her mouth from him, but she wrapped both hands around his root and kept sucking.

  He jetted into her hot, wet mouth with a deep, rumbling groan, his coiled muscles throbbing with the ecstasy of the release as his seed pulsed from him. She drank his cream without hesitation, making soft eager sounds that hummed all around his shaft. Only when she had swallowed every drop did she allow him to slide from her lips, pausing to give his slick cock one last kiss before she rolled over onto her back and sighed.

  Jackson idly stroked her damp hair back from her brow. “What was that about being my slave?”

  “You said it was illegal.” Audrey reached up to lace her fingers through his. “How did I do for my first time?”

  His mouth hitched. “If I tell you, I’ll get hard again.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible, even with your inexhaustible penis.” She crawled up beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Besides, we might have to ration ourselves, or we might end up killing each other in bed.”

  “Yeah.” He stared up at the ceiling, wondering how anyone could have assumed Audrey was a killer. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “You’ve just run me through most of the Kama Sutra,” she reminded him, her voice sounding sleepy now. “I think that entitles you to a couple.”

  “You said your godmother makes herbal remedies,” he said carefully. “For what purpose?”

  “She uses them on her skin and her face.” Audrey yawned. “Aunt Hannah is a little obsessed with her looks. I think because she’s scared of getting old.”

  Jackson held her until her breathing slowed, and then carefully got up and dressed. He stood by the bed to watch Audrey sleeping for a few minutes before he walked out to the front room to retrieve his mobile from his jacket and call in.

  “We have a serious problem,” he said as soon as Command answered. “Audrey Mather isn’t the killer. I think she’s–”

  He stopped as he felt the presence behind him, but before he could turn, something large and heavy crashed into the back of his skull and hurled him into darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “ARE YOU GOING to waste your entire day off sleeping?” a cheerful voice said.

  Audrey squinted up at her godmother. “Aunt Hannah?” She smothered a yawn. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, the opera I went to see was cancelled, and then my attorney had an emergency in court. Once I finished my shopping I couldn’t see the point of sitting in my hotel for another day.” She held up a small brown bag. “I didn’t forget your tea.”

  “Thanks.” Audrey frowned as she sat up and looked around. Jackson’s clothes were gone, and if his pickup truck had still been in the drive Hannah would have mentioned it. “I’m sorry your plans were ruined.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Portland isn’t going anywhere.” She draped Audrey’s robe across her lap. “Now why don’t you get up and shower? I’ll take you out to lunch.”

  She frowned as her godmother strode out of the room. Hannah often brought her food, but she had never taken her out for a meal because she didn’t dine in public.

  Audrey took a quick shower and dressed, selecting one of the outfits her godmother had given her for her birthday. She didn’t care for the pink and yellow dress, which was somewhat dowdy and didn’t suit her coloring at all, but at least Hannah couldn’t object to it.

  When she emerged her godmother was on the phone, but immediately replaced the receiver as she beamed at her.

  “Oh, my favorite dress. Thank you for wearing it, dearest.”

  “Why don’t we have lunch here instead of going out?” Audrey said carefully. “I can make some sandwiches or a salad.”

  “That’s so sweet of you.” Hannah picked up her clutch. “But I think it’s time I braved the public eye, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me.” She held out her elbow. “Shall we?”

  Audrey grabbed her purse before she linked arms with her godmother. Hannah led her out to where her driver was waiting with the limousine, but on the way Audrey glanced down and spotted some dark smears forming a trail on the walkway.

  “Aunt Hannah, stop.” She pulled away from her and knelt down to examine the stains before looking up at her. “This is blood.”

  Her godmother’s mouth tightened as she glanced around them. “I don’t see any bodies. Perhaps it was an animal, or one of the guards was clumsy.”

  Audrey followed the trail of blood to where it abruptly ended in one large smear. “It looks like someone was dragged.” She straightened and glanced at her car. “Jack.”

  “Jack who?”

  “A friend who stopped by last night.” Audrey took out her mobile to call him, and as soon as he picked up asked, “Hey, Jack, it’s Audrey. Are you okay?”

  “Jack’s fine,” a girlish voice said. “He’s in the shower right now, though––can I take a message for him?”

  Audrey went still as dread filled her heart. “Who is this?”

  “Becky, his girlfriend. Who’s this?”

  “Audrey Mather from work. There’s no message.” She switched off the phone and stared at it, unable to believe what the other woman had said. Jackson had a girlfriend. Jackson, who had spent the night with her. Jackson, that lying, cheating son of a–

  “So your friend is all right?” Hannah asked.

  She blinked before she forced a smile. “Yes, he’s with his girlfriend. The blood must have come from someone or something else.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Hannah went to the car, where her driver opened the door for her. As she climbed in she glanced back at Audrey. “Come along, dearest. I’m starving.”

  As they drove into the city Hannah talked about the new clothes she’d bought in Portland, but Audrey barely heard her. Discovering that Jackson had cheated on his girlfriend with her left her feeling numb and disconnected, as if she’d suddenly dropped into a bizarre, parallel world. How could the man who had spent all night giving her one orgasm after another be involved with another woman? Was that why he’d insisted on using all those condoms? She knew firefighters had a bad reputation for being bed hoppers, but how could he do this to her? Would he tell his girlfriend? Should she?

  “Dearest, snap out of it,” Hannah said, patting her arm. “We’re here.”

  Audrey had gotten out of the limo and followed her godmother up to the door before she realized where they were. “Oh, no, not this place.” She stepped back from the unmarked green door. “I’ll wait in the car for you.”

  “No, you won’t,” Hannah snapped as she turned around, but her flare of anger quickly turned to chagrin. “Dearest, you can’t abandon me now.” She didn’t notice the door opening behind her. “You know how dippy Mariah is; if I go in by myself she’ll keep me in there for hours listening to her ramble on about the moon and stars and who knows what else.”

  Audrey winced as she gazed past her godmother at the impassive expression of the old woman standing behind her.

&
nbsp; “Of course she’s kidding, Mariah,” Audrey said.

  “Darling.” Hannah turned and immediately embraced the old lady. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Mariah endured the hug without returning it, and kept her shrewd, dark eyes on Audrey as she stepped back. “Come. I have other matters awaiting my attention.”

  The pungent smoke from burning incense fogged the air inside the shop, which was small and cramped, with walls lined with narrow shelves of baskets, jars and vials filled with hundreds of varieties of roots and herbs. On one side Mariah kept a work bench where she made up custom mixtures and measured out and bagged purchases for her customers. Today the shop was empty, however, and as soon as Audrey and Hannah came inside Mariah flipped over her front sign to CLOSED, drew down the blind and bolted the door.

  “Mariah, darling, I’m in dire need of your special astringent,” Hannah said as she went over to the bench and examined several vials. “Oh, you’ve already made up a fresh bottle. How thoughtful.” She beckoned to Audrey. “Would you mind tucking this in your purse, dearest? I left mine in the car.”

  “That can wait,” Mariah said, taking hold of Audrey’s arm with her bony fingers. “It’s time for her to join the circle.”

  Audrey eyed the old woman. “You mean the circle that dances naked in the moonlit meadow? Because I think I already said no, thanks.”

  “You were born in the circle,” Mariah told her. “Your mother delivered you in the light of the full moon before the entire coven. When it was time she would have brought you to us to be instructed, if she had not…died.”

  “Instructed?”

  “Taught to manage your ability to heal.” Hannah gave her an uneasy look. “Dearest, I wanted to tell you, so many times, but then you decided to become a paramedic, and I thought it best to wait. I was hoping you would come to me, you know, for advice. When you came into your healing power.”

  “You knew? All this time, you knew?” Audrey felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She turned to Mariah. “So what am I supposed to be? An alien? A reincarnated faith healer? What?”

  “You are a Wiccan, my dear. A member of very old and noble race of pagans who practice the craft of magic and witchery.” The old woman looked almost sympathetic now. “I know this is a great shock to you, but you must have suspected you were different from the humans around you.”

  “Excuse me?” Audrey glanced down at herself. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am human.”

  “You are, for now,” Mariah agreed. “It is only temporary. When you take a Wiccan mate, you will make the final transition to your True Self, and become immortal. But you cannot mate with Daniels. He is a powerful warlock, but he cannot stay with you.”

  Audrey felt as if she’d fallen down the final rabbit hole. “Okay, I’m out of here.” Before she reached the door something pinned her arms to her sides and dragged her back to Mariah. “What the…hey.”

  The old lady lowered her hand, and the invisible force surrounding Audrey ebbed away.

  “I am the High Priestess of the Seattle coven. I initiated your mother, and her mother before her. You do not walk away from me, novice.”

  Although Mariah spoke quietly, her words stirred something inside Audrey, who found herself briefly bowing her head in submission.

  “There, now, we’re all friends again.” Hannah smiled brightly at Audrey. “All you have to do, dearest, is be initiated into the coven, and all will be explained to you.”

  Audrey ignored her and spoke to the old woman. “What happens if I refuse?”

  “You will be driven from our territory, and any other that belongs to a coven,” Mariah said softly. “You will become a solitary––a rogue witch––and you will be shunned and reviled by any Wiccan whose path you cross.”

  “All that, just for not joining your little witch club?” Audrey chuckled. “What do you do when someone is late with their dues? Burn them at the stake?” As Mariah’s expression darkened she held up one hand. “Sorry. I forgot, that’s what other crazy people do to you guys.”

  The old lady sniffed. “Not anymore. Now, will you join the circle?”

  “You can’t refuse, really, Audrey,” her godmother said before Audrey could reply. “Without a Wiccan mate you’ll be doomed to live as a mortal. You’ll grow old and die a mortal death.”

  “Like you?” Audrey asked Mariah.

  The old woman murmured under her breath and passed her bony hand in front of her wrinkled face, leaving a trail of tiny sparkling silver stars that spun around her head. Her thin cheeks filled out, and the lines around her eyes and mouth slowly shrank. The grizzled cap of her iron-gray straightened and fell in soft dark red waves to her shoulders. By the time the little stars faded away Mariah looked no older than Audrey.

  The High Priestess’s white teeth flashed between her full red lips. “Now why would you think that, child?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  WAITING FOR HANNAH Gardener and her young companion to emerge from the herbalist’s shop bored Henri Marquette, who finally handed off the task to his clergy aide.

  “Watch for them, and follow them when they leave. Make note of every other place they stop.”

  His aide nodded as he picked up a pair of binoculars and trained them on the herbalist’s door.

  Marquette got out of that car and walked back to the SUV behind it, where his human lackey sat behind the wheel texting on his phone. As soon as he saw Marquette he switched off the device and rolled down the window.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “The south end.”

  Marquette took the human’s phone from his hand and got in the back seat, where he pulled up a Seattle news site and scrolled through the crime reports until he found one about a suspicious fire, and gave the driver the address in New Holly.

  Hannah Gardener had no idea that Marquette had her followed back to Seattle after every one of their clandestine meetings. Nor did she have an inkling of how much information he had amassed on her over the years. If she did, she might assume he intended to kill her and seize her wealth and property. Hannah Gardener didn’t know that in the seven centuries since Marquette had attained immortality he had amassed enough wealth to bury her under a small mountain of the conflict gems she coveted.

  The Wiccan’s beauty, fortune and property meant nothing to him. Her sole value was as the only source of the mysterious potion that kept the curse ravaging his body in check. For that reason the witch was even more precious to him than his faith.

  Immortality had been his reward for serving the Almighty, but until he had been cursed Marquette never imagine it could also be forged into a horrific punishment. Five years earlier, when he had stormed the Wiccan stronghold in Ireland with his Templar brothers, he had thought only of doing the work. He was sworn to wipe the heathen plague from the face of the earth, and so he had––until he had come upon the crone cowering behind one of their filthy altars, her grotesque wrinkled body naked, her joints swollen––and her belly bulging with child.

  Marquette had thought it yet another ruse, and thrust his blade through the witch to dispel the enchantment. As his oiled steel pierced her body, it changed into the smooth, comely shape of a much younger woman…but the child in her belly remained.

  She had fallen to her knees, staring up at his face with such a curious expression at first––as if she admired him. Her lips stretched out into a wide and terrible smile, and then she uttered a string of words in the Old Language, splayed her hand over her bleeding belly, and clamped her hand around his ankle.

  He felt the burn of the enchantment and kicked her away. “Curse you, heathen bitch.”

  “My suffering is done,” the Wiccan whispered. “But never will yours be.” She closed her eyes and went limp.

  Later he would learn that she had drawn on the last feeble moments of life of the unborn child to send Marquette into a living hell. It began with his fingers, which slowly began to twist and distort, and then spread up his arms and over his
shoulders. His spine curved so that he could not stand up straight, and then his head became permanently twisted to one side. Open sores spread over his skin and created a stink nothing could wash away. While his body gnarled into knots and his flesh rotted Marquette suffered the accompanying pain of his many afflictions, which no amount of drugs or drink could relieve.

  Through it all, only one part of his body remained unaltered: his face. As if the witch wanted him to always have one reminder of the glory of what he had been.

  His immortality gone, and his body reduced to a completely crippled shadow of his former self, Marquette made the noble decision to put an end to his pain. He fell on his sword––only to feel it snap in half under him. He then directed his clergy aide to cut off his head, and that sword suffered the same fate. He then tried every means possible to kill himself––drowning, burning, crushing, suffocating––and each time his body emerged unscathed because he was not only still immortal, but the witch’s curse had also made him invulnerable.

  He believed he would live forever in torment and pain, until Hannah Gardener had contacted him and offered a treatment that would relieve his suffering for the phase of one moon. She sent the first vial to him by courier, and since nothing could kill him, he drank it…and his body returned to its former, unblemished glory.

  Marquette felt no shame over his unholy alliance with the witch. Had he not done everything he could to end his dependency on the Wiccan? He had taken the vials to be analyzed by the best scientists in the country. Over and over they had tested the tiny traces of the potion, but all they were able to determine was that it was an infusion of simple herbs. They had reverse-engineered the potion to determine the exact amounts of the herbs used, and even recreated it. Their version did nothing but make him puke.

  Marquette suspected it was not the herbs or how they were measured that gave the potion its restorative powers. The witch merely used that as a suspension to contain the healing power of the spell with which she enchanted it. Yet despite torturing over a dozen Wiccan wretches, Marquette had never been able to learn anything about the spell she used. Nor could he breech the wards that protected her estate.