Spell Bound (Darkly Enchanted)

by Stephanie Julian

  Well, hell. It’d been a damn long time since anyone had gotten the better of him. That it was a girl… Hell. That just made it worse.

  When the alley dumped him onto Spruce, he stopped, eyes narrowed.

  Where the hell was she headed?

  She wasn’t dressed like a waitress but there were a few restaurants in the area. There were also a couple of funeral homes, one manufacturing operation, a few bars, a few—

  Shit. Shit. He knew why she’d looked familiar.

  She was one of Harry’s girls.

  * * *

  Like much of the rest of the city, The Spyder had seen better days.

  Once the lodge of some benevolent order of animal, the building retained its original stone façade, but the grand arched windows had been boarded over and painted black. Only the decorative wrought-iron grills remained. The front door was arched, as well, and wouldn’t have looked out of place on an English castle—thick-planked and iron-studded.

  Only the Etruscans knew the oak door and iron studs were natural spell repellants.

  A bas-relief border of trees and deer and rabbits cut the building between the second and third floors. If you looked closely enough, you could see the toothy creatures that lurked behind those trees.

  After returning to the girl’s apartment to retrieve his Audi, Gabriel parked the car close to the alley at the back of the building then walked to the front door.

  “Dan, how’s it going?”

  “Hey, Gabe. How’s it hangin’?” Shaved head gleaming, ebony skin shining in the dusk, Dan Ferryman gave him the once-over before letting his gaze slide back to the street. “Not planning on using any of that hardware tonight, are you?”

  “Not unless I need to.”

  Dan’s normally grim face split in a toothy grin, showing the elongated incisors that marked him hereditary versipellis. Harry employed mostly skin-shifters, from bouncers to bartenders to dancers. With their superhuman strength, they gave him an edge on any eteri who might want to pick a fight. “That’s what I like about you, Gabe. You know how to sling the shit. You wanna talk to Harry?”

  “Just here for the show.”

  Dan’s snort could be heard through the thick door.

  Pausing in the hall, Gabriel gave his olfactory sense time to adjust to the smell. How the hell the lucani dealt with it, he’d never understand. Their sense of smell was a hundred times better than his and his was three times better than a regular human’s. The amount of alcohol, cigarettes and sex in the air could be a lethal combination.

  Shaking his head, he stepped into the main room.

  At one time, the club’s public space had been a grand meeting hall with high ceilings, stained glass windows and rich wood paneling fit for an English manor.

  But years of hard living had decayed the interior until it resembled a whore who’d stood on her corner too long.

  Paint peeled from the paneling in rainbow flakes. Faded red velvet curtains covered the gaping holes where the windows had been, dust clinging to the folds like lint in a fat man’s gut.

  Heading for the bar on the left wall, he avoided the tables on the floor and the dozen or so men who watched three dancers gyrating on the catwalk. None was the girl he was looking for.

  He took a deep breath of stale air thick with smoke from substances legal and others not so much.

  “Gabe.” Harry set a shot of tequila in front of him, slim white hands working fast, pale gray eyes never wavering.

  Gabriel downed the alcohol before saying, “I need one of your girls.”

  Harry’s bland features tightened infinitesimally. “Nothing kinky and no marks. A C-note for the first fifteen minutes. Which one?”

  Gabriel let his gaze roam the murky room. “I’ll let you know.”

  He tossed a twenty on the bar for the drink and the info and moved to the table farthest from the stage. After a few minutes of lazy pole-dancing, the three strippers left, and the girl he’d followed appeared.

  Holy shit.

  Dressed in black leather shorts made for a five-year-old and a couple strips of red leather that barely covered her nipples, she slinked onstage to some music he didn’t recognize. The heavy bass thudded low in his gut and lust grabbed him by the balls as she rubbed her body against the silver pole in the middle of the stage.

  Heat drenched him as she tossed her thick mane of hair over her shoulders and bent backward until it swept the floor. Breasts straining against the straps, she rubbed her crotch against the pole then swung around it.

  And then she began dancing in earnest.

  Holy fucking hell. Gabriel’s mouth dropped open, allowing him to drag in a little more air so his lungs didn’t quit on him.

  How the hell had he not noticed the girl was damn hot last night?

  Oh yeah, hangover.

  Shit, he must have been further gone than he’d thought.

  She wasn’t tall, but she had a natural grace that should have looked out of place in a hole like this. Her hair, a silky brown-black curtain, veiled her face, hinting at secrets. But those flat brown eyes stared straight ahead, making no eye contact with anyone as she gyrated down the catwalk with the lazy stride of a porn star.

  He wanted to watch her eyes but couldn’t tear his gaze from her breasts, jiggling beneath the constraint of leather. Oh yeah, he was a breast man.

  Not that he didn’t appreciate her firm ass. The strip of material between her legs wasn’t wide enough to completely cover the lips of her sex when she bent at the waist and shook her ass at the crowd. The move elicited a few whistles from the men and made Gabriel shift in the hard wooden chair to alleviate the binding pressure of his jeans on his stiffening erection.

  He had the insane, caveman urge to jump onstage, grab her and run.

  At that moment, her gaze locked with his. Shock froze her in mid-move, her mouth—damn, what he could do with that mouth—fell open then closed tight. A second later, she whipped around, hair flying out behind her, and walked off stage.

  Gabriel walked back to the bar and threw five hundred-dollar bills in front of Harry.

  “I want her.”

  Harry made the bills disappear and nodded to the door at the end of the bar.

  “Room three.”

  * * *

  Shea fidgeted on one of the room’s two wooden chairs, foot tapping, listening for the sound of his footsteps.

  She thought she’d lost him on the street earlier. How had he found them? Had he finally remembered her from the past nights he’d drunk himself stupid?

  And why the hell had he followed her in the first place?

  His response last night had been crystal clear. He wouldn’t help them.

  Had he changed his mind? Hell, did she even want his help after last night?

  She sighed and heard despair in the sound. She couldn’t afford to say no if he offered. There was too much at stake. Leo’s life was worth any aggravation he could dish out.

  Especially after that spell she and Leo had attempted today.

  She needed this man and, boy, did that piss her off.

  Down the hall, a door opened then closed, footsteps approaching.

  “Okay, deep breath, relax.” She breathed in. “You can do this.”

  Her back tightened as the door opened, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes straight on. His dark gaze, however, slid all over her, from her unbound hair to the tips of her red toenails, visible in her open-toed black-leather stilettos.

  Heat burned over her like an open flame. Which didn’t make any damn sense because he wasn’t looking at her with any kind of sexual intent.

  Which just frosted her cookies.

  Vaffanculo, what the hell is wrong with you?

  He was just a guy. And she so did not need a guy. But she did need a grigorio and this one exuded strength as some men reeked of cologne. He wore his confidence as casually as he did the black coat and dark, tight jeans. The combination drew her like a cat to cream.

  Her stomach clenc
hed and her fingers itched to run through his ink-black hair and over his broad shoulders. She had the completely foreign urge to curl her legs around his waist and cling, let those huge hands run up and down her body and—

  And, boy, did that piss her off. She hadn’t had to sell herself to survive. Not yet.

  She would sell herself to this man if he agreed to protect Leo. From the look on his face, he realized that and she hated him for it. But her body certainly didn’t.

  After what seemed like forever, his gaze locked on hers. Closing the door behind him, he took the seat across from her. A grin ghosted around the corners of his mouth. Waiting.

  Ceffo. Did he think she was going to run screaming? If the bastard wanted a lap dance, she’d give him one that left him with a hard-on for a week.

  Standing, she forced herself to relax, to treat him as just another guy who saw her as an object, not a person.

  Stopping two feet in front of him, she met his gaze.

  “I assume you know the rules,” she said. “No touching. If you do, I leave and you are removed and banned. Don’t bother to offer me money for anything other than the dance. I’m not for sale.”

  She didn’t wait for him to say anything, just looked away and started to dance.

  * * *

  Damn, she was actually going through with it.

  Gabriel hadn’t come to talk, and he certainly hadn’t come for a lap dance. But when he’d seen her in that skimpy outfit, with those beautiful tits and toned legs and long, dark hair…well, he was a guy.

  A guy who’d been impressed as hell by her backbone yesterday. She’d told him off then walked away. In her position, he would have done the same.

  Tonight, he’d come to take her to Serena, to find out who the hell she was. He wouldn’t put up with any shit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun first.

  Well, maybe fun wasn’t the right word.

  Because a hard-on the size of his was not fun unless he was naked and the woman was willing.

  And from the expression on her face, that wasn’t the case.

  She began facing him, gyrating her hips then letting her upper body get into the motion. She moved in perfect rhythm to the piped-in music, every inch of her body a sinuous delight.

  Her legs—long and sleek in four-inch stilettos—looked strong enough to break his neck, but not overly muscled. Her hips and ass curved in a way only women should and her stomach, though flat, wasn’t hollow. She was no cocaine-starved junkie who weighed ninety pounds and had breast implants.

  No, her tits were her own. Firm and high, with just enough jiggle to prove their authenticity.

  His gaze caught and held on her chest as she raised her arms over her head and did a slow turn. When she faced away from him, she bent at the waist, wrapped her arms around her legs and wiggled her ass at him.

  His cock, already hard, began to throb as painfully as if she’d reached out and grabbed him. Hell, he was as close to coming without physical contact as he’d been since he was a teen.

  And that made this woman dangerous.

  When she straightened, throwing her hair over her shoulders, he’d had enough.

  He snaked one arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, clapping his hand over her mouth before she screamed.

  He trapped her easily, but her desperate squirming made his cock kick in his jeans. He took a deep breath, which didn’t help because it was filled with her scent, spicy and clean, and whispered in her ear.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to protect you. And take you to talk to someone. I’ll let you go when you stop struggling, then you’re going to come quietly.”

  * * *

  Shea finally made sense of the words the dirty, rotten ceffo had whispered in her ear, and anger replaced her fear.

  Her heart still beat at heart-attack pace, but she forced herself to relax and he released her the second she stopped trying to get away.

  Instinct took over and she jabbed her spike heel into his combat boot as she stood and faced him. The guy didn’t even flinch.

  “Vaffanculo. You are a Grade-A bastard. What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?”

  Crossing her arms under her breasts, forcing them tighter against the straps, she watched his gaze dip for a few brief seconds, making her nipples ache against the leather.

  Son-of-a-bitch.

  He smiled as if he’d read her mind. “You came to me for help, babe. Either you take it or they take the kid. I’ve seen what’s after him.”

  Damn him. Her stomach rolled and, for a minute, she thought she might throw up. He was deliberately trying to scare her.

  And since she’d seen first-hand what those men would do…she was terrified.

  They could be anywhere. Sitting in the audience. Next to her on the street. They were close. She could practically feel them, like a dark presence that lingered on the outer edges of her consciousness. They’d killed her parents. There was no way she’d let them have Leo. But if something happened to her, Leo would have no one.

  Unless she trusted this man with the steady dark stare and rock-solid jaw under a finely trimmed beard that covered his chin and continued up to meet his sideburns.

  She sighed. “Why are you here now? You made yourself perfectly clear last night.”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Look…last night…I wasn’t expecting you. I was tired and…” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you. So, may I please offer you my protection?”

  Her lips twitched at his apology during which he never apologized and at his purely male look of exasperation. He had to know she wouldn’t say no. There was too much at stake.

  “Can you at least tell me your name? And who wants to talk to us?”

  His head inclined the slightest bit. “Gabriel Borelli. And all your questions will be answered when we get where we’re going. But we gotta go now.”

  “Fine. Just let me change—”

  Borelli held up one hand to silence her as his eyes narrowed. He turned toward the door, revealing, for a brief second, the armory beneath his coat.

  A brief flash of memory sparked as she recognized a few of the weapons under that coat. Her father had had many of the same in his own collection. Gabriel Borelli was a warrior, exactly who she needed to keep Leo safe.

  His intense concentration as he listened to something outside the room actually calmed her. She didn’t hear anything but he obviously did. Something that set him on edge.

  After a few seconds, Borelli made a sharp motion with his head for her to follow him.

  Slipping off her heels, she watched as he opened the door and looked both ways. Then he waved her into the hallway that connected these small rooms to the dressing room at the end.

  Where Leo waited.

  Borelli dogged her heels, a gun the size of a small cannon in his hand. They reached the dressing room in seconds. No one appeared in the hall as they slipped inside.

  “Leo,” she whispered. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

  His dark head popped up from under the vanity table where he’d probably been playing his PSP. His eyes widened when he saw Borelli and he looked back at her with fear in his eyes.

  “It’s okay, bud.” She smiled at him as she shrugged into her hoodie and pulled on her sneakers. No time to change the shorts. “He’s here to help.”

  Leo looked again at Borelli, who swiped a quick look at Leo before returning his intent gaze to the dressing room door. Her brother took a second to make up his mind before he moved to her side.

  She grabbed his hand and her backpack…

  And froze as her skin tingled. Someone was using a spell to search for them. Someone powerful.

  Oh, shit. They’d been found—

  Borelli grabbed her shoulder and shook her, breaking through the fear that’d nearly paralyzed her. He didn’t say a word, just motioned toward the door at the rear that led to the back alley.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Holdi
ng tight to Leo’s hand, she’d barely pulled him through the door when the shooting started.

  Chapter Six

  The dressing room door muffled the first few blasts.

  But as the wood splintered under a barrage of bullets, the sound of the gunshots pounded her ears.