Desperation and lust made his words hoarse. “I have to get her out of here.”
“If you do, she's dead. I hacked into the Rogue Cadre's database, she's been moved to the number one kill. They want this witch all kinds of dead.”
Axel thought about the rogues targeting Darcy. “If she doesn't even know she's a witch, why are they after her? How did she attract their attention?”
Sutton shook his head while studying the computer screens he was working on. “The only thing I can find is that she registered for a birth-parent search. But I don't know why that would get the rogues’ attention. Something did, though; they are determined to kill her.”
An odd, protective feeling rose in his chest. For a witch. He had no idea what to make of that, so he ignored it. “That doesn't solve my problem. I have a witch who doesn't know how to spell a curse and just seven days until the waxing gibbous moon.” An earth witch could only spell the curse up until the waxing gibbous moon. After that, only killing the demon witch before the full moon would break the death curse. And once they hit the true full moon, nothing would save Hannah.
Sutton leaned back, looking directly into the camera. “Can you control your compulsion around her long enough for her to learn the spell? It can't be that hard to find a spell for her to do. It'd be easier and safer than trying to get another witch with the Rogue Cadre breathing down your neck.”
Axel didn't look away. “No. I've touched her blood.”
His blue eyes widened in surprise. Sutton leaned forward. “Is she still alive, A?”
He brought his hand up to cover the hollow place in his chest. It took everything he had to keep his gaze on Sutton and not look up to the monitor showing Darcy. “Yes. But she's in me now.” He lost his battle and looked up. She was using the washcloth to get the blood out of her shirt. Her body was turned slightly so he could see her narrow waist, the swell of her breast beneath her arm as she moved. In a deep voice, he told the truth, “I need her.”
“Can you have sex with her and not kill her?”
He shifted his gaze back to Sutton. Sweat ran down his back. “I don't know.” He wanted her blood, too; he wanted all of her. What if he completely lost control during sex and cut her to get to her blood? Once he cut her, he wouldn't stop until she was dead.
“I'm going to gather what we know about spelling a curse. The way I see it, you can do one of two things. Send your mom to deal with the witch and you stay away from her.”
He knew that wasn't going to happen. “Or?”
“We know that sex with mortal women helps us control the compulsion. Find out if the same goes with a witch.”
“Find everything you can on spells and death curses. I'll worry about keeping the witch alive.” Axel hit the key to break the connection and stood up. Darcy was like a magnetic pull that he couldn't resist. He went through his closet, down the stairs, and to the room. He had an office on this level, bedrooms, and a small kitchen. He built the safe house so they could hide on the bottom floor if attacked and escape through a hidden garage. There was also a supply of weapons. He had Darcy in the room across from his office. The lock on her room was specially made to engage a second lock if the first one was tripped, and a third if the second was tripped. It wasn't totally witch-proof, but it would slow her down.
But Darcy hadn't even tried to unlock it.
He used his palm print to fully disengage the lock and opened the door.
She swung around, holding the wet shirt in front of her breasts. The action was so female, so vulnerable, that he felt a weird protective feeling again, mixed with lust. Then he caught sight of the scar on her upper left arm. It had to be the one she'd been admitted to the emergency room for. He closed the distance between them and reached for her arm.
She tried to jerk away, still clutching the wet shirt to her breasts.
Axel loosened his hold on her. As determined as he was to save Hannah, terrifying and hurting women disgusted him. He sure as hell didn't want to see her suffer a repeat of the pain she'd experienced from the witch karma. “Easy, I just want to see the scar.” As soon as he touched the jagged cut, he felt the heat. “Another witch hunter attacked you. When?”
She looked at him with angry brown eyes. “Let go of me.”
He realized that he had tightened his fingers possessively. Damn it, he forced his hand to let go of her arm. “Tell me what happened.” His blood was already running hot. Her scent alone made him want more; need more.
She clutched the shirt tighter but she lifted her chin with determination. “I was fourteen. I was walking home from a party and was attacked by a psycho with a knife. Somehow in the struggle, my arm was cut.”
He saw her backing away from the truth. A truth she didn't seem to want to know. “Your arm was cut with witch karma. Just like today, you probably used your powers to stab the hunter with his own knife. Witch karma causes any intentional harm done with magic to come back on the witch times three.” He looked into her eyes. “You know exactly what happened that day.”
She moved back from him. “No one believed me. He was going to kill me! I had to fight back, I couldn't stop the energy that grabbed his knife and cut his bicep. Seconds later, my arm just exploded open … there was so much blood and pain. I thought I was going to die.”
She had been fourteen! What the hell was wrong with the witches allowing her to be adopted into a mortal family? She'd survived the hunter only to be damn near killed by the hospital staff when they gave her synthetic pain blockers. “What chased off the hunter?”
Clutching the shirt even tighter, she said, “My cousin. A friend of his, Morgan, had found out there really wasn't a party that night, that some kids were playing a trick on me. My mom had dropped me off, but when the parents answered the door, they had no idea what I was talking about. I was so humiliated. I didn't want to call home and tell my parents, so I decided to walk home. Anyway, the two of them got there and saw what was happening. They scared the guy off and called nine one one.”
“Was he young, old?”
“Kind of old, I guess. He actually seemed horrified and shocked once my cousin and Morgan showed up. Like he'd snapped out of … I don't know.” Her face was tight with pain, memories, and fighting a truth that seemed to scare her.
“Bloodlust. He lost control, but he wasn't rogue or you'd be dead.”
“Bloodlust? What?”
She looked vulnerable and way too sexy holding her damp shirt to her breasts. The need to touch her strengthened with every breath. He reached over his shoulder to grab a handful of his shirt and pulled it off. He held it out to her. “Put this on and I'll explain.”
She took it. “Turn around.”
Not a chance. “Turn my back on you after you tried to stab me with my own knife?” He raised his eyebrows in a challenge to see what she'd do.
What she did was take his breath away. She set her wet shirt on the counter next to her bra, and then pulled his shirt over her head. For a brief second, he saw her wearing only that silver necklace resting against the subtle golden witch-shimmer that no camera or mortal eye could see. Her breasts were full and rounded with dark pink nipples that made his mouth water and his dick stand at attention. She was even more beautiful in the flesh. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from touching her.
The spell. She was there to do the spell. He had to remember Hannah, and why they needed the witch.
Once she had the shirt down, she said, “Don't you see? I can't help you. I don't know how to do magic. I just want to go back to my life. My family and friends will be worried.”
He cut her off. “You'll be dead inside of a day if I let you go.”
“I don't … why?”
“Those men that attacked you tonight. They were witch hunters.”
“Like you? You hunt witches?”
She needed to understand. “Not like me, not yet anyway. Thanks to witches, witch hunters are cursed to crave witch blood. If we give in to the craving, we lose our so
uls and go rogue. It's like a drug, the rogues can't stop killing the witches for the power in their blood. And now that they've found you, they aren't going to stop.”
“But I didn't even know I was a witch!”
He had to make her believe it and grasp the seriousness of the situation. “They know. They found you and they have moved you to the top of their kill list. Those men tonight were just the first. More will come and they will keep coming. They will kill anyone who gets in their way: friends, family, strangers; anyone to get to your blood.” He paused then said, “I'm your only hope of staying alive. You work to cure my sister and I'll protect you.” Unless he gave in and killed her himself. He fought a new wave of heart-racing desire, lust, pain … all for sex, her blood, her very essence.
Her eyes flared with torment, fear, and determination. “But you're one of them. How will you keep from killing me?”
He hit the very edge of his control. The hot lust seized his balls, while the compulsion screamed for her blood. Sweat beaded and ran down his back. “Sex,” he said. “I want to screw you more than I want to kill you.” He had to leave, before he lost all control. He knew she was in pain and needed to heal. He couldn't risk sex with her while there was any blood on her, blood that would inflame him until he pulled his knife and killed her to get all of her blood. He knew it, and yet every nerve in him screamed to take her now. Rip that skirt off of her, shove her panties aside, and bury himself in her. Hold her against him while he filled her up and made her his. Only his.
Fury rushed into her face. “That's your solution? Let me screw you and I won't kill you? I'm not having sex with you! I won't let you force me.”
His balls ached, his skin burned, and he was running out of patience. “I don't force women and I sure as hell wouldn't have to force you.” He moved closer to her, close enough to feel the heat coming off her witch-shimmer, but he didn't touch her. He didn't dare touch her. He looked down into her angry eyes. “Would I, Darcy?”
She sucked in a breath. “What is that? Every time you get near me, I feel strange.”
“Pheromones, hunters attract women using pheromones. But this … this is something else.” He stepped back, feeling the hot sweat of lust and need run down his back. “Maybe because I touched your blood.”
She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Or maybe you're an arrogant ass used to having women fall at your feet.”
He blinked in surprise. He'd never met a woman who stood up to him like the witch. Hell, now he just wanted her more. It was time to get out of there. He turned and started for the door.
Her gasp stopped him. “It's a hawk.”
His tat. That's all, she saw his tat since he'd given her his shirt. “Yes.” He stayed where he was, looking at the door, telling himself to open the door. Leave.
She moved up closer behind him. “He looks so real.”
Axel stiffened as her rich voice poured over his skin.
“It's almost like if I touched him, I could feel the feathers.”
Axel opened his mouth, but it was too late. Her fingers landed on his right shoulder blade where the tip of the tattooed hawk wings began. The bird had his wings straight up like he was coming in for a landing, covering almost all of his back. Her fingers rode the wings down to the waist of his pants. Fire seared from her touch straight to his dick.
Then her touch was gone. He missed it instantly.
“Skin, not feathers,” she said softly.
Axel turned. The sight of her wearing his shirt against her sparkling witch-skin made his hands itch to touch her; to lay claim to her in a primitive way. Before he thought about it, he took a step and scooped her up in one arm to bring her face-to-face. “Teasing me, little witch?” It came out in a deep growl.
“Put me down, or I'll …”
He kissed her, laying claim to her mouth, closing his lips over hers, while tracing them with his tongue.
Static crackled in the room; little pops of her undisciplined power. The brush of it against his skin made his dick twitch in painful arousal. He curled his hand behind her head to angle her mouth open.
Her small hands dug into his shoulders as she parted her lips.
He slid his tongue against hers and she tasted so damn good. So hot. He could feel her nipples pebble through the shirt pressing on his bare chest.
Her body spoke to his. He could smell her desire, a full spicy scent that was blooming around them both.
He slid his hand down her thigh and under her knee. Her skin was warm and smooth and he knew she'd taste like lemon and spice. He pulled her leg up high over his hip, forcing his shirt and her skirt to ride up, until she was exposed and vulnerable to him, with only her panties covering her. Then he pulled her into his erection straining to burst free of his pants.
He felt her damp hot need right through his pants. She was as hot for him as he was for her. Whatever it was between them, it was powerful. He kissed her harder.
Her small, startled cry pierced his raging lust.
Yanking his head back, he saw the blood well up on her lip. “Christ.” He'd torn the newly forming scab. The smell was intoxicating, but her wince made him sick. He'd never hurt a woman he'd had sex with. Ever. He was always careful.
Abruptly, he set her on her feet. Dragging in a breath, he got another lungful of her warm scent spiced with fresh blood. “I have to get out of here.” He turned to the door.
“Wait!”
He couldn't, he yanked open the door.
“I won't be locked up!”
The panic in her voice yanked him back around to look at her. Big mistake. She looked too vulnerable and vibrant at the same time. In as calm a voice as he could muster, he said, “You're perfectly safe in here. I'm going to get you help to figure out how to spell the curse off Hannah.”
She took a step toward him. “Don't lock me up. I am not an animal.”
Fear. He could scent it as clearly as he could her anger. Fear had a too-sweet smell and he didn't like it one bit coming off of her. But he needed to get away from her for her safety. And he had to keep her to save Hannah. Determinedly ignoring her fear, he said, “You'll be fine.” He closed the door and engaged the lock.
Something hit the door and shattered. “Bastard!”
Bastard. She'd thrown the first thing she found—a small pottery bowl—when Axel closed and locked that door. She turned back to the dark granite countertop, her gaze drawn to the built-in drawers. She searched them and found every color and size of candles and holders.
Bending down to the bottom cupboards, she discovered all kinds of bowls, utensils, and towels. A small fridge was built in next to the cupboards and was filled with bottled water and various bottles of oils. Nothing that would help her escape.
She grabbed onto the leather seat of the big metal stool and pulled herself upright. Ignoring the bed on her left, she walked to the door on the right side of the room and looked into the small bathroom with the essentials: sink, toilet, and shower. Under the sink were towels, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, and other prison necessities.
Back in the room, the wall between the bathroom door and outside door had a little desk with drawers built in that held papers and pencils.
No magic key, no crowbar, not even a lighter to set the bedding on fire and force them to let her out.
With nothing else to look at, she turned her attention to the locked door.
She had to get out.
Carla would be frantic wondering what had happened to her. Joe would be furious. Worried, but furious. Darcy wanted to help that little girl, but she'd never been able to control whatever it was inside of her. She'd spent most of her life trying to keep it contained.
Fat lot of good that had done her. No matter what she did, her dad never loved and accepted her. And now she was in a mess.
But could she leave that little girl? Hannah's face was burned into her brain—with the horrible mark dead center on her forehead.
Running her hand over her face, she
winced when she touched the sore area around her eye. From witch karma.
A witch. She couldn't hide from it anymore. Too many years and experiences added up. Then she had touched Axel's hawk and she'd felt the truth of what he was, and of what the curse had done to him.
But she wasn't going to let him lock her up, damn it!
She focused on the door. There was a brass door handle, then some kind of coaster-size brass plate with a black pad in the center. Thumbprint lock, maybe? Censor? Could she get the door to unlock?
Anything was better than staying locked up in the room. She was starting to feel as if the walls were closing in. She had to stay angry; keep trying to get out.
But how did she get the lock to open? She stared at it and kept thinking.
Earlier tonight, the two men insisted that she had kept the funeral home door shut with her powers.
And then there were the emails from her email account, and the weird phone call telling her to run.
Her powers? Something else? She truly had no idea.
She shifted her gaze back to the door, and felt a familiar choking sensation squeezing her chest. The sensation of being closed off from the world, like she was locked in a casket. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and thought, Let me out! A wave of energy slid through her.
Was that a click she heard? She ran to the door and tried opening it.
Still locked. She was locked in a room, in a dungeon below ground level.
The panic started. Her breathing rate increased. Memo ries of being locked in dark places overwhelmed her.
Unable to endure the fear, she marched over, picked up the metal stool, and raised it up then crashed it down on the lock.
The loud clash echoed in the room. She tried the door—the lock held.
She was locked in. Trapped.
No fucking way.
She raised the chair and bashed the lock over and over until pain radiated up her arms.
She dropped the stool, staring at the scratched but still engaged lock. She looked around, panting and fighting the choking claustrophobia. Every time she'd gotten this frightened as a child, the hawk had come to her. His wings would wrap around her and make her feel safe.
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