by Lola White
Adam slid to the left, still buried inside her, and gathered her close. Her breathing was ragged, filling the room with harsh sounds as she struggled to find her equilibrium. Adam turned until they were both on their sides, drawing her leg up over his so he could remain within her.
He stroked her back and she fought to stay relaxed as a chill of regret settled over her dewed skin. She pressed closer to him, turned her face into his chest, and held him tight, unsure of whether she was comforting herself or apologizing to him.
Unreality set in, and made the world unfocused.
An eternity passed while the window lightened with the dawn. Finally they got up and got dressed, with Tulah forced to wear what she’d worn the night before. Preoccupied with her inner chaos, she listened as Adam stated his intentions of walking her back to her room, his commands to never be alone and to avoid Graves at all costs, and possibly Muso, too. She agreed just to get away from him and find a private moment where she could sort through her thoughts without his watchful eyes evaluating her.
Doubts were freezing her and guilt was stabbing her in the brain, when she opened the door and stepped into the hall. She felt Adam’s spell ripple around her, like pushing through a gauzy curtain. Half-blind with shame, she collided with a perfumed body.
Constance. Her gaze raked over Tulah’s wrinkled dress before lifting her eyes to peer into the room. Constance’s perfect complexion mottled with outrage, her pale eyes lit with angry calculation. Tulah’s shame and regret evaporated under a searing reminder of what Adam’s other options included and a fierce surge of determination to keep him from falling to the Levy woman’s machinations.
“Well, well,” Constance purred. “Look who’s got a pet.”
“That’s enough, Constance,” Adam said. “It’s your wedding day, shouldn’t you be getting ready or seeing to last-minute details?”
Constance stepped closer, her voice dropping to an angry snarl that scraped Tulah’s already frayed nerves until they bled. “You are an ignorant little nothing, only good enough for a fuck. Not even Graves wants you. Do you really think you’ll hold the Davenold male? Because I promise, you won’t.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adam
“Speaking from experience, Constance?”
Adam blinked as Tulah’s voice dropped to a hiss filled with more menace than he would have thought her capable of. It touched some primitive part of his psyche, and added to her intrigue.
“You’re out of your depth, sweetie.” Constance’s smile was all teeth and no warmth.
“Am I?” Tulah’s back muscles shifted in a rolling shrug that had Adam remembering exactly how flexible her spine was.
He couldn’t help himself, he loved that the women were snarling over him, and chiding himself wouldn’t stop the excitement of it. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see how far they’d go.
“You are nothing, and everyone knows it.”
Tulah took a single, gliding step forward. “Just like you are.”
“I have more power than you, silly pet.”
Tulah gave a low, harsh laugh. “Like you, I’m at Graves’ mercy. Unlike you, I’m not trapped there while my father crawls between me and my husband, leaving me cold on my side of the bed and looking for someone else’s power to warm me back up.”
“Oh, please,” Constance scoffed. “Like I give a shit what Graves does. He can fuck the entire male population of the city and I couldn’t care less.”
“Right, you just want the power. Davenold power, because your own people won’t give one iota of their own.”
Constance’s tone smoothed into spun silk. “You think someone like you could really have a shot at holding a man like Adam? You’re nothing more than a warm body in the bed to him.”
“I don’t want power.” Tulah shook her head. “I want freedom.”
Constance threw back her head, a bark of laughter shooting from her throat. “That’s precious. You’ll have to write me when you get to Africa and tell me what it’s like to be fucked by your own uncle, pet.”
“Right after you tell me what it’s like to be the third wheel caught between Graves and your father. Or is that how you like it, Constance? Do you scream for your daddy?”
Adam’s mouth dropped. His fragile tigress had claws. Constance’s pretty face hardened into an ugly mask. “You will never be anything more than a man’s toy. Passed from bed to bed until you break.”
“What are you doing here, Constance?” Adam broke in, suspicious of the rigidity of the women’s bodies and knowing from experience the hell of breaking up a catfight. He pushed past Tulah.
Constance’s anger melted into sweetness in the blink of an eye. Her entire demeanor underwent a radical change, softening as she stepped close to sink against his body. Her lower lip pouted out the tiniest bit, her big blue eyes turned luminous. Adam set her back a step, ignoring her deepening pout.
“I was looking for you. I wanted to apologize for arguing with you last night, Adam. My emotions are just everywhere, what with the stress of the wedding and all that’s going on. Please forgive me.”
“Sure,” he agreed easily. “I’ll offer my apologies as well. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”
“I was hoping to talk to you.” She tried her best to cuddle up to him.
Pushing her back, Adam held on to his patience through sheer force of will. “About what?”
Constance flicked a glare at Tulah. “A private conversation, sweetie. Just between you and me.”
“I don’t think we have time for a chat, honey. You’re getting married today.” Adam cocked his head, swallowing against the flood of nausea suddenly threatening his composure. “You are still getting married today, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Constance said. “But I wanted to talk to you about life after my marriage.”
“I think that’s a conversation best left until after you’re married.”
“But—”
“I’ll see you later.”
Constance relented with barely concealed hostility, but her tone was sweetness and light when she said, “Oh, yes, is your grandmother feeling better?”
Adam kept his face completely still, unwilling to show his confusion. “That’s one of the things I have to check on.”
He released Constance and turned his back on her, holding out his hand for Tulah. She latched on to his fingers without looking at her rival and a shaft of admiration went through him, knowing Constance wouldn’t have been able to contain her smugness if he’d taken her hand instead. Adam hated pettiness in his partners—it made his life that much more difficult—but Tulah was composed.
With the hot weight of Constance’s glare boring into his back the whole way, Adam walked Tulah down the hall. Stopping at her door, he threw it open, wincing at the oppressive space but noting there was no one waiting for her inside. She would be safe.
She turned to look up at him and her vulnerability punched him in his gut. Her eyes swirled with dark emotion, and she looked on the verge of tears, her lips pulled down at the corners. Unlike Constance, she didn’t snuggle into his side and make a production of her damsel-in-distress act. Tulah was fighting for strength, not pretending weakness.
“I’m sorry, Adam,” she said softly. “That wasn’t well done of me and I’m sure it was uncomfortable for you.”
“Maybe I like it when women fight over me.”
Her caramel eyes went wide before she looked down to study the hideous carpet. “I shouldn’t have said those things to her. I just… It makes me angry to know that she’s playing every side she can, looking for power on all fronts.”
Tulah stood a few inches away from him, making no move to get closer. Adam was the one who shifted toward her. He was the one who lifted his hand to her satin-skinned cheek and stroked, in full view of Constance. “I know what she wants.”
“I don’t know how you could have…” She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Never mind, it’s not my busin
ess.”
“Put her out of your mind. Call for room service, stay away from Graves and don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
Tulah nodded. “All right, but don’t forget about me. I don’t make a good prisoner, and this room is worse than being locked in a dungeon.”
Adam cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to his. He could see her unhappiness, her fear and frustration. His lungs squeezed. Without thought for the consequences, he lowered his lips to hers. Sweet, chaste, a simple kiss to deny the gut-clawing need ripping through him. A taste of Tulah’s vulnerability, a single-minded knowledge of her defenselessness amidst the Ngozi men.
Emotions churned—possessiveness, protectiveness, suspicion, even fear. Restlessness tore Adam into pieces and had him suffering a slew of doubts and needs he’d never faced before. He needed a quiet place to think things through, to find his center and get a handle on his turmoil, but he couldn’t stand the thought of going back to his room where the scent of Tulah’s pleasure still perfumed the air and the pillows still held the impression of her head.
He forced neutrality into his tone. “Lock your door behind you, honey. I won’t be gone long.”
With the morning still so new, Adam refrained from waking his grandmother. Instead, he followed hazy instincts prodding him toward the ground floor sitting room where he’d lost his senses and buried his cock in Tulah’s hot body for the first time.
He burst through the door but closed it softly behind him after noting the room’s vacancy. His fingers spun a spell—a magical ‘do not disturb’ sign that would keep other guests away until Adam had gotten control of himself. He threw himself into a chair before the roaring fire and willed his body to relax, to absorb the heat and let it calm his mind. But less than a minute later, his twin walked right through his spell and set his nerves to jangling anew.
Christiana planted herself in front of him and folded her arms over her chest. “While you were fucking your little nobody, Grandmother was fighting a dark magic spell that leaves no trace of its source.”
Adam jolted. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fighting. We could use your help.” Christiana’s harsh glare swept over him. “If you can pull yourself together.”
“Of course I can.”
He made to rise, but Christiana wouldn’t let him up. Her thinned lips softened enough to let her say, “Why her? What is it about Tulah?”
“She’s vulnerable.” Adam’s shoulders lifted. “Abused, and no woman should be. Tulah’s been stripped of everything, Chris, forced to witness trauma, forced to be strong enough to rise above it and keep pushing on. And she’s still sweet. Not like Constance.”
His twin’s mouth dropped. “Holy hell, Adam. Do you hear yourself?”
“She’s someone I could learn to love.”
“Bullshit.” Chris snorted. “You’re the spoiled youngest grandson of the Family Matriarch. You’re used to being taken care of, doted on, indulged.”
“I’m not the only one who fits that bill.” He didn’t deny his sister’s accusation. The pampering of the women of his Family only made his protectiveness toward them that much sharper.
“You gave me advice once,” Chris whispered in a strangled voice. “You told me I was moving too fast, falling for a pretty face without knowing what was behind it. I thought I loved him, too, and it turned out to be the worst mistake of my life.”
“Your mistake. Not mine.”
“One you never let me live down, Adam! To this day, you are terrible to my husband because of my past sins.”
“Your sins are mine, aren’t they, Chris?”
“And they’re about to be repeated, because you’re making the same mistakes I did! Open your damned eyes! She’s the lowest member of her Family, desperate for a way out.”
“She’s not like Constance!” Adam jumped to his feet, pushing his sister out of his way and driving his hands through his hair.
Tulah deserved protection. It was his possessiveness that threw Adam off balance. He’d never been a possessive man—his situation wouldn’t allow for it—but he wanted to keep Tulah close. He wanted to keep her, period. He admired her strength, was proud that she stood up for herself and terrified that she’d dared. She was by turns strong and submissive, capable of both surrendering sweetly and fighting for what she wanted.
But his sister was right—no matter how much Adam wanted to deny it. He didn’t know Tulah, or what she wanted from him. He didn’t know her motivations, her needs in life, her desires for the future. He didn’t know if she was acting in the moment or laying a complicated plot to trap him at her side. He didn’t know if she was lonely, scared, rebellious or acting on Graves’ orders.
“That’s right,” Chris taunted, yet her tone held sympathy. As it should, considering her first marriage. “See it for yourself, honey.”
Adam forced the chaos in his head to calm, tensed his muscles against the pain of facing his inner self and followed the pathways of intuition to learn the truth hiding inside him. He breathed in and out, controlled, nervous at what he would find but admitting the need to find it.
Tulah had caught his attention the moment he’d seen her, a unique beauty who appealed to him at the deepest levels. She tied him in knots and smoothed them out with a touch. She was generous both in bed and out, instinctively giving him exactly what he wanted. Hers was a soothing presence that still managed to whip the chaos inside him to new heights. Adam was both relaxed in her company and on edge, wanting the peace she exuded while simultaneously wanting to destroy that peace and make her wild. He liked the flow of emotions on her face, even as he lamented her ability to hide her thoughts.
Out loud, he said, “She would be a weakness I would have to guard fiercely, if I’m going to claim the right to protect her.”
“What?”
“I want her.”
His sister made a rude noise. “That’s nothing new. You’ve wanted many women.”
“You think I can’t tell, after all this time, when a woman fucks me for my influence?” He’d become so adept at spotting their manipulations, they no longer had the power to hide it from him. That kind of pressure, to constantly defend his emotions, took a toll.
Adam wanted Tulah. He wanted to talk to her, learn her secrets and her hopes, hear her opinions and figure out the way she thought. He knew what made her scream with pleasure, he wanted to know what made her curse in anger. And he wanted to fuck her again.
Slowly, the darkness inside him lightened. Tulah wanted freedom, not power or a position in a matriarchal Family. She wasn’t good at playing politics, not with such a readable face, so he knew she couldn’t be looking to claw her way up the ranks. She didn’t press for knowledge about him or his Family, didn’t ask sly questions.
If she was in his bed at Graves’ command, she was either the greatest spy on Earth, or the very worst.
And with that realization, breathing resumed its normal ease. Adam’s muscles unlocked, his heart took up a regular rhythm and the wash of heat sloshing through his stomach settled down. He was lightheaded, but satisfied that Tulah was what she appeared to be.
His sister noted the change in him with a look of horror. “No, Adam.”
“I know what I’m doing.” He reached for Christiana, trying to impart confidence and comfort, but the moment he took her hand he became aware of an insistent swirl of magic in the room around him.
Chris gasped and flinched. She swung around with a wide-eyed stare, gripping his fingers hard to keep their Matched magic merged. “You feel that?”
He held still, evaluating, but the trail was too elusive. Adam began to chant and Christiana joined in until magic rose and spilled forth with every word—spoken words always made a spell stronger. The air distorted as the pressure of their combined talent grew. Concentrating, Adam sought the source of the magic he sensed.
The spell wound around the room like a snake, investigating every corner. Doubling back, the power shoved him, and he stumbled, lost his balance and f
ell to his knees, dragging Christiana down with him. Directly in front of the roaring fireplace.
A subtle odor of burnt hair invaded his nostrils. Choosing a different spell from their vast repertoire, Adam and Chris kept up a steady stream of incantations as their magic bolted toward the flames. The fire sputtered and sparked, fading slowly.
When it was nothing but embers, a terrible pulse shook the hearth. Adam jerked back. Chris swore and squeezed his fingers as a dark ball of magic bloomed into existence and winked out almost immediately.
Adam found the effigy at the back of the hearth, half-eaten by flames, darkened and scorched. He gently lifted the little figure from the fire, using more magic to extinguish a tiny lick of orange determined to chew on the black dress the doll wore. Dark human hair was anchored to its wax head, the tiny arms stuck out to either side.
Most often used for long-distance harm to a witch, a magical totem required a piece of the victim to work. Hair, blood or even a precious memento—if the offending witch was strong enough—would anchor the spell and send it soaring away to find the victim. Legends were made of such things, and mere humans mimicked the truth of them, sometimes with surprising success.
“Oh, fuck.” Chris stared at the doll and cleared her throat. “Not every witch can do this. Margaret mastered the art decades ago.”
Suspicion screamed in his head as he turned the doll over until the unharmed face stared up at him. Adam went cold, struggling not to drop the thing, struggling not to crush it in his hands. Surprise took his breath and nearly stopped his heart. For a long moment he studied the familiar face while fear ate him from the inside out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Georgeanne
Georgie turned the little wax doll over in her hands, freely admitting that the witch who’d made it was quite the artist. Small lines had been carved into the surface, delineating the face, the sharp nose, even the crow’s feet, and the lips were a pink that matched real life perfectly. Shriveled black hairs clung tenaciously to the wax. The tiny, black bead eyes hadn’t popped under the pressure of the flames.