Hesitation and desire warred in his eyes. She recognized the weakness in his defenses and pressed forward. She slipped her hands behind his neck, but he resisted when she tried to bring his head closer to hers.
“Kiss me, Dru. Let me taste you. Share some of that heat with me.”
He groaned and put his hands on her hips as though to push her away.
Before he could, she placed her lips on the smooth span of his heated chest and kissed him there. She traced her tongue over his nipple, absorbing more and more fire energy.
He caught her and turned them in a swift, dominant move pressing her against the wall as he sought her mouth with a vengeance. Fiery passion whipped through her, increasing her strength along with her need.
Yes. He might not care about her, but he still wanted her.
She had to act fast before he consumed her.
She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping it to draw his attention as she slipped a hand into her pocket. She soothed his lip with her tongue before she teased him, drawing his tongue into her mouth. She struggled to open the plastic bag without him noticing. In a desperate move, she pressed her free hand against his erection, caressing the bulge, refusing to release him from their kiss.
Tierra had said not to handle the hard ball they’d created, but Claire had no choice.
Her fingers sizzled when she touched it, but she ignored the pain. She had to get him to taste it, to consume some portion of it, and she was running out of time.
She broke their kiss, gasping for air. “Oh, God, Dru. I need you so much.” The worst part of her wicked plan was that she would never be able to experience this again.
“Me, too,” he growled as he nuzzled her neck, his hands slipping beneath her shirt.
Shivers raced over her as she sent one last prayer to the gods or goddesses above and popped the fiery ball into her mouth. “Kiss me.” Hot sparks erupted inside her head, tainting everything with a red haze as Dru claimed her mouth.
The moment his tongue breached her lips, she forced the cursed ball inside his mouth.
He stepped back from her, a stunned look on his face. He spit the ball onto the floor, anger blazing in his eyes. “What the hell was that? Feels like it’s burning a hole through my goddamned tongue!”
“Give back what you took from me!” she yelled as adrenaline and fear broke over her, afraid their spell hadn’t worked.
“No!”
But even as he said it, she felt it. Delicious power snaked through her as everything around them began to shake. The picture above the fireplace fell to the floor. The sound of glass shattering punctuated the chaos. Books leapt from shelves and a lamp crashed to the ground.
He reached for her, but she moved away, putting the couch between them.
“What have you done, Claire?” he demanded, holding onto the mantle as her power slipped from him.
“It’s mine, Dru. It belongs to me.”
Then everything quieted like a roaring freight train that had disappeared around a bend.
“I can’t let you go. I can’t let you have it.” He moved slowly toward her.
Fiery energy and anger combusted inside her as the last bit of her essence returned. “Try to take it again, Dru. I dare you.”
“It won’t be your fire that I’ll take next time. It will have to be your life.”
A sonic boom came out of nowhere and shook the house, knocking Claire harder than a load of dynamite. She lay on the floor stunned for a few seconds before she regained her clarity and searched out Dru. He’d been knocked down as well.
He stared at her, his eyes growing wide as his gaze focused on her mid-section. Afraid of what she’d discover, she looked down. The unearthly sword Dru had used for their blood oath rested next to her.
Her gaze flew back to him. Fury owned his expression, forcing a barrage of panic to rain down on her.
“Do you know what you’ve done? Gods, woman, you’ve opened the Second Seal.”
She had no idea what that meant, but instinct screamed to get the hell out of there. In a fluid motion, she gripped the heavy sword as she got to her feet and ran for the door as a horde of invisible demons chased her.
Thick blood, weighted by magic, coursed through her veins as her boots ate the distance between Dru’s porch and Tierra’s car. The passenger door opened before she reached it, and she flung herself and the sword inside.
“Go! Go! Go!” she screamed.
She looked back to see Dru only footsteps from the car as Tierra put it into gear. She sped off before he could do anything worse than pound once on the trunk.
“You have your power!” Tierra yelled victoriously as her car raced down the road. “I can feel it.”
“Yes!” Hot adrenaline scorched her veins. “The potion worked, just not the way we thought.”
“That’s a mighty big sword you brought with you,” Moira said as she leaned over the seat, eyeing the beautiful piece of workmanship.
“It’s his sword.”
“What?” Tierra asked, glancing rapidly between the carved steel and the road.
“It came out of nowhere,” Claire said, her heart still racing. “As soon as I had my power back, there was this huge boom, and I found myself on the floor with it beside me. So I took it and ran.”
Moira laughed as she fell against the backseat. “Lord Almighty, that is just the most perfect example of karma I’ve ever heard.”
“Right?” Claire said, embracing the revelry, drunk on sweet power. “He’ll learn to mess with me.”
“Goddesses help us,” Tierra hissed, the fearful tone of her voice wiping out their excitement. “This is serious, girls.” She placed a hand on Claire’s arm. “You do realize you’ve just stolen War’s sword.”
Doomed silence encompassed the car, leaving them all to ponder the significance of what they faced.
Then a snicker escaped Tierra’s lips, and Claire turned to her, amazed. Tierra laughed again, bringing a smile to Claire’s lips. Then Moira joined in, and soon they were all laughing.
“My sisters are some pretty bad-ass witches,” Tierra said between breaths. “No one better mess with us.”
“That’s right,” Moira agreed. “Or little Cheeto. He’ll fry their asses, too.”
Love and sisterhood surrounded Claire, fueling her energy, leaving her feeling invincible.
If it wasn’t for the dangerous look she’d left on Dru’s face, everything would be perfect.
****
Dru stumbled into his house like a man who’d been castrated against his will. Anger pulsed through his veins and filled the hollow space that had once held Claire’s power.
She had his fucking sword.
The fact that he now understood the pain she’d endured increased his fury. The empty ache he must have left inside her when she’d given her gift to him. Afterward, the overwhelming need to retrieve what belonged to him, the sword that had been with him throughout eternity.
The part of his soul that screamed for vengeance.
He tossed down a shot of whisky and found his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed Pestilence.
Julian might well be the only one who could end this.
Dru and Nick had gotten too close to their targets, and that had cost them dearly. That wouldn’t be a problem with Julian. In fact, proximity would aid him.
Dru waited until his friend’s British accent came across the line, sounding as old as time.
“I failed.” That admission was a brutal blow to his ego. “They’ve broken the Second Seal.”
Silence echoed across the distance between them for several seconds. “I see.”
“I know you hate to leave your fortress, but your presence is required in Port Townsend.”
“These de Moray witches, what makes them so powerful that they could best two of the Horsemen?”
Dru could picture his friend sitting in his study, pondering the question over a glass of the finest wine. In the spirit of the occasion
, he poured himself another shot of whisky. “They’re subtle enemies, skilled in the art of seduction. I underestimated their abilities and determination along with the power of the prophecy. The end of days is destined to happen and will not be easy to stop.”
“Obviously the gods believed we were up to the task. I shall make accommodations, then. Expect me within a few days.”
Dru ended their call and set about strategizing his next move. One that ended with his sword in his hand and Claire in his bed. With her sister dead and the crisis averted, there was no reason he couldn’t have both.
Aerin
by
Kerrigan Byrne
Chapter One
“What the hell are you doing?” White sheets took a tantalizing journey down Dev Atwal’s bronzed, lean torso when he sat up in bed and rubbed sleep from his bleary eyes.
“I’m curing cancer. What does it look like I’m doing?” Aerin Doe shoved her favorite Brunello Cucinelli cashmere sweater next to her favorite Manolo Blahnik pumps and grappled with the zipper on her luggage. Was it against the rules to sit on a Gucci Suitcase?
Fuck the rules, she had a plane to catch.
Turning around, Aerin hopped up and landed ass-first on the top of her suitcase and ground her cheeks into it for good measure, managing to slide the zipper around the rectangle with a victorious breath.
“You smoke too much to cure cancer.” Dev’s measured, exotic Indian accent irritated the shit out of her at the moment. Also, now she wanted a cigarette.
“I need you to handle the requisition meeting next week,” Aerin told him, bustling to the bathroom and dumping her shitload of beauty products and cosmetics into her carryon. “Don’t let that smug fucktard, Kai Masashi, pretend he doesn’t know English. That Japanese genius speaks it better than you do; he’s just trying to throw you off.” She added a curling and straightening iron to her bag, because who knew what the humidity in the Northwest would do to her hair? Anti-frizz gel and curl intensifier followed, along with clips, elastics, pins, bands—was she forgetting something? “Oh, and the rep from Luxul is going to help with the new wireless and network implementation, so have him work with Stan. They’re the best, so make sure they’re treated well.” She waved a box of tampons at him as she said this, before adding it to her bag.
Dev’s marble-black eyes followed her around the bedroom as she opened her slut-red leather tote and organized her wallet, work laptop, e-reader, wireless speaker, and smart phone.
“Also, fire Eric. That gold brick is pissing me off and I want him replaced by the time I get back.”
“And when will that be?” Dev queried.
The diamonds on her watch told her she had time for a smoke before her car arrived, and that still afforded her an hour and a half to get from Manhattan to JFK Airport.
“I’m not sure,” she evaded. “If there is an emergency, Sandra will be able to get a hold of me.”
“What if I need you?”
“Like I told you.” She gentled her tone as much as possible. “If you have an emergency, talk to Sandra. But I have complete faith you’ll be able to run things while I’m gone. You’ve done it plenty while I’m away on business. I trust your judgment.” Except for his taste in women.
“Is that what you’re doing, leaving on business? Can you at least tell me where you are going, or do I need to get that information from your assistant, as well? I’m the VP of Operations, Aerin, it is good if I have information to give should someone ask.” The inflection in Dev’s voice remained, as it always did, smooth, with a zen-like resonance that matched the cords of blue in his sleek, black hair.
But he was hurt. Aerin could tell.
She’d always been able to tell.
The air vibrated with a lie at a different frequency than it did with the truth, and each emotion had its own wavelength. She’d never known why she could read those waves, why they brushed at the fine hairs on her body with an undeniable veracity. Some kind of sensory perception disorder maybe? Autistic tendency? Psychological overstimulation stemming from her years in the foster care system?
Who knew? Who cared?
She sure as shit didn’t.
Her stomach clenched and her hand shook as she reached in her bedside table for her cigarettes. “I’m flying into Seattle where I’ve scheduled a few meetings with a certain global online marketplace,” she lied, placing a hand on the ivory handle of her balcony door.
“You usually take me with you. What if you need me?”
Well, shit.
“I won’t,” she murmured. “I need you here. I also need you to get dressed, as I have to lock up in exactly nine and a half minutes.” Was that a bitchy way to tell him it was time to leave?
His eyes told her that it was, so she slipped out onto the balcony to escape the sad-face emoji frequencies that were certain to follow.
She berated herself as she thrust her cigarette between her lips and lit up, taking that first morning drag deep into her lungs and letting the soft wave of nicotine roll through her veins with an addict’s bliss.
God, she loved smoking.
Aerin waited for the effects to take root as she listened to the teeming mass of humanity down below. The trembling stopped after three pulls. The vibration that had rattled about in her chest quieted at five, and she could again feel her limbs become weighty and normal.
Who needed to taste their food? Better yet, who the fuck had time to eat when there were corporations to conquer and a world to connect? Smoke breaks were So. Much. Better.
Looking down, she let the spring breeze caress her face, and felt the vertigo that always came with heights. She did this every morning. Her ritual.
Coffee. Smoke. Lean over the balcony. Think about jumping. Decide not to. Go to work.
It wasn’t about suicide. That was just it. Something in her blood told her the bagillion story drop wouldn’t kill her. Which was proof that she was probably psychotic. But whatever, psychopaths ruled the world and ran corporations all the time. She followed politics close enough to know that.
Sighing out a cloud of white through her nose and mouth, she eyed the little, black bundle tucked into the eaves of her loft. Shiny, black wings with fine webs of veins cocooned a fury, ebony body with a comically snouted nose and adorable Mickey Mouse ears.
“Good morning, Doctor Lecter,” she quoted her favorite book series between drags. The bat twitched, dragging one clawed wing below its beady eyes to greet her, or to glare at her, she couldn’t be sure. She could just imagine him saying, “Hello, Clarice.”
What the hell a vampire bat, who was native to the Central and South American climates, was doing in Manhattan beat the hell out of her, but Aerin couldn’t say she minded the little bastard hanging around, as it were. When he’d found her earlier this year, she’d been tempted to call a pest control company, but damned if she didn’t get attached to his adorable/ugly face and constant presence.
She’d done research on him, instead. Genus: Desmodus rotundus. A social animal, usually roosting in colonies. They tended to have strong family bonds with tendencies toward reciprocal altruism, even adopting parentless babies.
A strong kinship had formed on her part after reading that, and Aerin had spent almost every morning coffee/smoke with Doctor Lecter perched high above Park Avenue. Both of them supposedly part of a huge colony, and yet apart from it.
Alone. But together.
Return to me what has been forsaken,
By earth, air, fire, and sea…
Aerin was tempted to slap her hands over her ears, but she knew it wouldn’t work. The chant was in her head. Had been for weeks now. Months, maybe. She’d blocked it out at first, but the pull became stronger. Physiological symptoms had manifested. Headaches, tremors, heart palpitations, restlessness, sleeplessness. The constant pull west.
Why west?
Regardless of the direction, last night, or rather, that morning around three am, she’d booked the next flight out of town, as fucking west
as she could get in the lower forty-eight.
Amazingly, it had helped.
Dev knocked around in her bedroom, getting dressed, shutting the bathroom door, turning on the water, and muttering curses in that lyrical language of his. It bothered Aerin that she didn’t know what he was saying. She’d never learned his language. German, French, Japanese, Spanish, and Mandarin rounded out her repertoire nicely. Maybe she needed to add another to her list.
Tapping out her first smoke, she lit a second and resolved to linger over this one. She probably wouldn’t learn any Indian dialects. It wasn’t like she was dating Dev. He was her employee. Hell, she didn’t even know why he’d slept over. Usually they just fucked somewhere and he left, or she did, depending on where they’d ended up. He only lived a block and a half away. They hadn’t had that much to drink last night, had they?
“What if he’s getting attached?” she asked Doctor Lecter. “What if he’s getting like—feelings?”
Doctor Lecter sneezed. Or, at least, she thought it was a sneeze.
“You’re right,” she nodded, flicking ash into her crystal tray. “That’s what I get for dipping the pen into the company ink. Er—wait—aren’t I the ink? Because I don’t have a pen—er—penis. But it’s my company, so am I technically doing the proverbial dipping?”
The tiny mammal’s silence turned distinctly judgmental.
“Yeah, fuck the whole metaphor. Point is, I shouldn’t be doing it—him,” Aerin said, watching a sleek black town car pull up to the front of the building as she tamped out her half-smoked cigarette. “Hang tight, Doctor Lecter. I’ll see you when I see you.”
When she entered her apartment, she found it empty. Empty of color, decorations, and empty of Dev. He hadn’t said goodbye.
Could she blame him?
Stepping into her power pumps, she reached into the drawer and threw bottles into her tote. One anti-depressant, two anti-anxieties, nicotine gum for the flight, and a metric fuck ton of sleeping pills.
Which Witch is Which? (The Witches of Port Townsend) Page 17