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THE KISS
by
Edie Ramer
Chapter One
“An alien?” Emma Lemarchal loaded her voice with sarcasm. She’d gotten the cool job of hunting aliens, and on her first day she was paired with a freak who said he was one of them. “If you’re from another planet, how is it you fit in on earth so well?”
In the driver’s seat, Sep gave Emma a grin that came straight out of a Regency romance. Not the hero, but the hero’s rakish best friend.
He turned his attention back to the road, every block taking them further into a part of Madison, Wisconsin that she preferred to stay away from. Especially at night. Especially on All Hallows’ Eve. The witching night.
“Easy,” he said. “I have a rule.”
His grin widened, and she grimaced. She was immune to bad boys. Once stung, forever immune. Even she, with her … powers, couldn’t keep her former lover faithful. At the end, she didn’t care enough to try. She wasn’t like her mother and grand-mere, who enjoyed the occasional bad boy.
Not that Sep was available. His model-gorgeous wife—undoubtedly too good for him—was already at their target site with Baron Rutledge, the head of the Foundation.
“Okay, what rule is that?” she asked, exaggerating her New Orleans’ drawl.
“My only rule. Don’t be a pren-head.”
“What’s a pren-head?”
He looked at her sideways. “You know.”
If it meant dickhead, she supposed she did know. And if he thought he wasn’t acting like one, he was delusional.
“Why would Rutledge hire an alien? Why aren’t you locked in one of the Foundation’s exam rooms?”
“I helped save his life.”
“Convenient.”
He nodded. “I got a woman. I got a job. I got a fun life. I’m the luckiest man in the whole Kergeron race.”
She resisted rolling her eyes. She’d never heard of a planet called Kergeron. He was an alien like she was normal.
They reached a block with a strip mall, and it felt as if they entered another world. She sat forward as much as the seatbelt allowed, peering out the window. In the midst of increasingly sad blocks with barren industrial lots and buildings with boarded-up windows was this happy one. No, a hip one, with a line of club goers snaked around the front sidewalk. She spotted a half-dozen red jackets with the UW-Madison Badgers’ emblem. A few women wore scanty Halloween outfits, including a slutty witch, a slutty mermaid, and someone dressed like a WWII pin-up girl. Not yet acclimated to the Wisconsin cold, the sight of so much bare skin made Emma clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.
Sep parked in a No Parking Zone. When he turned, he didn’t have his smile for once, his expression hard. For an instant, he seemed to be the former warrior he claimed to have been was on his old planet. One who wouldn’t hesitate to use one of the five knives hidden beneath his clothes.
Shuddering, she was glad her skills didn’t involve weapons. People liked her. Mostly men, but women, too. The reason Rutledge had hired her, saying they could use someone who people confided in.
She followed Sep to the club. Her black, mid-thigh length jacket fit loosely, but she still got glances from the men she passed. Not that she was anywhere near Mrs. Pren-Head’s level. She didn’t fool herself that she was anything above medium: medium height, medium weight, medium build, medium brown hair and medium brown eyes. Even the length of her hair was medium.
But she had the magical ingredient.
Though ‘magical’ wasn’t the word they’d used for her Salem ancestor in 1692.
They reached the muscle-bound bouncer, his leather jacket hugging his biceps and a snake tattoo on his neck. His eyes narrowed at Sep and widened at Emma. But she didn’t turn up the heat. He wasn’t her target. Instead she let Sep take care of it with a handshake that ended with the bouncer slipping bills into his pocket before ushering them inside, ignoring grumbles from the people waiting in line.
Just before she stepped inside, she noticed the neon red and dark blue name above her.
The Warlocks’ Club.
The next instant, something touched the side of her neck. She tried to flick it off, but it wasn’t anything she could touch. It was an energy reaching for her, probing her, turning into a ripple of exultation. It’s you, a voice said. I found you.
She stumbled, grabbing the door jamb to catch her balance, then hurried after Sep. Any inclination to laugh at her overactive imagination was sucked away by a wave of power settling over her. So real and so tangible it brushed her skin and touched her hair. Like a net trap over a rabbit in the forest.
Sep turned, a frown that appeared odd on his normally smiling face. Even he wasn’t oblivious to … whatever it was.
“You okay?” He raised his voice to be heard over the music blaring from the DJ’s speakers, a man repeating over and over again, “I want it, I want it.”
What she wanted was for the singer to shut the hell up.
“Do you feel it?” she asked.
“Feel what?” His frown deepened.
Seeing only puzzlement in his face, she shook her head and surged ahead of him, squeezing between two groups in the aisle. She reached the end of the bar before she spotted Mrs. Pren-Head and Baron Rutledge, the CEO and President of the dual-service Foundation. The public side saved mistreated and maimed dogs. The private, top-secret side sought evidence of extraterrestrial life on earth. So secret the government didn’t have a clue.
She liked the idea. Liked it a lot.
But … she wasn’t liking this. The pull drew her toward their co-conspirators. Standing in front of a corner door guarded by another beefy bouncer, Sep’s wife and Rutledge stood out. In her clinging, long-sleeved top and pants, Nina looked as if she could have been on a reality show for the rich, famous and bored. Rutledge was two or three decades older than the mostly college-age crowd that made Emma feel old at twenty-seven. But it wasn’t his age that made him remarkable. It was his unfortunate skin condition, as if his mother had mated with a lizard.
His eyes met her, and she wiped the thought from her mind. Rutledge couldn’t help his looks, and she normally saved her sarcasm for people who deserved it. After all, she was far from perfect.
But tonight it was hard to control her thoughts. Something to do with the club and the force tugging at her. Someone calling her, a thick whisper in her mind saying, Come to me. Come quickly. I need you.
She shivered as they stopped in front of the mismatched pair. Like Beauty and the Beast.
“How’d it go?” Sep asked, a trace of anxiety in his normally happy-go-lucky voice.
Nina’s mouth curved with tenderness, even as she shook her head. “We came. We met. We parted.” She shrugged. “Not one ounce of attraction.”
“Is he blind?” Sep asked.
Nina laughed, the warmth in her eyes as she gazed at Sep unmistakable. Especially to someone like Emma, who’d learned the signs as a toddler, watching her mother work her women’s magic.
Witch magic, her mother called it.
Goddess magic, according to Grand-mere.
Sep stepped to Nina’s side, sliding his arm around her back. One side of his mouth curled in sardonic humor, Rutledge shifted his gaze to Emma.
“Your turn.” He gestured at the door behind him. “Your target is through there.”
She looked at it, past the bouncer, to the unobtrusive back corner door. The force wrapped around her, growing stronger. Compelling her to enter.
Come, come, the voice said. I need you.
Her mouth turned dry.
Come, it whispered. Come to me.
Swallowing, she stepped forward.
Sep grabbed her arm. She fought an impulse to dig her finge
rnails into his hand and stomp on his instep. Anything to make him release her so she could open the door and see the man calling her with so much urgency.
“Leave the jacket,” Sep said. “Your figure’s not bad. Show it off and he’s more likely to want your company.”
“It’s a courtyard,” Nina said. “I was freezing.” She turned to Emma. “Leave it on. No woman looks alluring with her teeth clattering.”
I’m coming, she said silently, irritated that they were keeping her from him. I’m coming.
Even with her mind yearning to go, her body shuddered.
Coming to what?
Chapter Two
Money was a wonderful thing. Rutledge passed another bill to the bouncer, who stepped away from the door before Emma maimed him—or just walked through him. The way she felt right now, she could mow him down. Grand-mere said the women in their family were like bees. They could make the best honey around, but if necessary, they used their stingers.
The door clanged shut behind Emma as she hurried into a small courtyard, empty except for the man sitting on an iron chair that didn’t look like lawn furniture. It looked like a throne.
She stopped four feet from him, fighting the tug that swept out from him. Hell, not a tug. It was as if a thick rope was tied around her waist and twelve strong men were dragging her to him.
Come to me. Come.
She planted her feet on the terracotta tiled surface that covered three-fourths of the enclosed area behind the bar. A line of thin evergreen-type trees made it into a private terrace. Lights by the back door dimly reached this far, but the full moon spotlighted his face, giving it a silvery glow of a statue.
The most wonderful statue she’d seen.
She put a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out at the beauty. His features were chiseled, his lips full and soft. His dark eyes an impossible shade of obsidian. Black with purple highlights.
In them, she saw need. A need that only she could meet.
And she saw something else.
Suffering.
Sickness.
She didn’t know if he was an alien, but she knew he wasn’t normal.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He grabbed the throw covering his legs and tossed it to the tiles. Intent on his face, it was the first she’d noticed the throw. He stood slowly, the strain tightening the muscles in his face, his jaw visibly clamped. When he got to his feet, he swayed and then, as if by willpower, stood still and tall.
“Cazidor Diaz,” he said, and the Spanish-accented words curled around her in seduction.
She braced her legs but felt herself leaning toward him. Sucking in her breath, she straightened. “Emma Lemarchal. From New Orleans.” She raised her eyebrows. “Mexico?”
“Spain.”
“Single?” The question came out of her mouth before she could bite it back. Though she’d been sent here to flirt. The master plan to get close to him.
He took a step toward her, and his obsidian eyes blazed. “For now.”
She gasped and held out her hands to stop him. He was moving much faster than the plan. As if he had his own plan, bright and shining in his mind. There before he’d seen her. Sending out his mating call. Come to me. Come.
He took another step toward her. What this man wanted, he went after. And he wanted her. More than any man had wanted her. She felt his desire in every place between her head and her toes, every inch of her skin. And beneath her skin, she burned higher and hotter. Melting from the inside out.
“I know you,” he said with that seductive voice and the accent that made her want to curl up at his feet and whimper. “I know you.”
She stepped closer to him, unable to stop her feet, her breath sucking in, her eyes on his, her mind blank. Under his power.
No! A protest wormed out of her mind. He was yanking her strings, but she was no man’s damn puppet. No, no, no.
Her breath shuddered out. Clenching her jaws, she fought his hold. She couldn’t back up, but she could do the one thing that always empowered her.
He smiled, and the pull intensified. In tiny, jerky increments, she lifted her chin. With every small jerk, the moon shone on her face a bit more, though her gaze never left his. When she felt the glow full on her face, she finally lifted her eyes.
Ahhhhhhh. The moon’s rays slid through the pores of her skin. Pouring into her. Empowering her. Freeing her. He might be an alien or a warlock or just a man with a super high testosterone level, but she had her own defenses. Grand-mere called it woman magic.
The moon filled her, returning her power. She still felt the link between them, but it was tiny, no longer overwhelming her or controlling her movements. Lowering her gaze, she put her hands on her hips. “What the hell did you do to me?”
Before he could answer, the door slammed open behind her. A woman’s voice snapped, “I’m going to see Caz. Touch me and I’ll sue you.”
Caz didn’t take his gaze from Emma’s, but his jaw tightened. The interruption should’ve relieved Emma, but instead a cry rose up in her, as if someone had ripped the connection between them and her heart was bleeding on the terrazzo tiles.
Chapter Three
Caz stiffened. The power he’d used to draw the woman to him had weakened him. He’d felt her in the bar. Felt her out on the sidewalk. Felt her energy, her essence. So similar to Julene’s, yet so different. Like an angel was different from the devil.
He had no reserves of strength left to handle Julene. The woman he’d once hoped would be his salvation who’d turned out to be his hell.
In the moonlight, Julene’s eyes looked red. Burning with rage. Eerily beautiful. Eerily insane.
“Caz!” Her knife-edged voice was a warning. She stormed toward him, lightning in her blue eyes.
He lifted a hand to his brow. Though the cold night air chilled him, his brow was damp.
“What a charming entrance.” He made himself smile. “Please, no need to wait for an invitation.”
Julene Dalbret stopped in front of him, so close he could see the dark blue rimming the icy blue irises. With the stripper heels she liked to wear, she stood a couple inches taller than his six one. Slightly behind her, Emma looked dwarfed, though she was an average height.
“Fuck you,” Julene said. She glanced over her shoulder at Emma. “You can go. Caz and I have personal business to discuss.”
“Our business is over.” He stepped past her to Emma’s side. A woman he’d met moments ago versus the woman he’d sought out nearly a year ago, when he’d realized there was a power in Madison. Not as strong as his but almost strong enough to match it.
One that he hoped might save him from the family curse.
Instead he was worse than ever. Some mornings it took an effort to get out of bed. Yet three doctors hadn’t found anything wrong.
“My dear.” As if he hadn’t spoken, Julene focused her intense gaze on Emma. “You aren’t needed here. Why don’t you run along?”
Anger made him shake but he held back his temper, afraid of what would happen if he released it. His nerves along with every muscle in his body were screwed tightly, ready to break.
Five days ago, he’d sensed Emma nearby. Somewhere in the city. Somewhere close. He didn’t know where. He was too sick to chase around and find her. But if he could bring her to him…
Five days of sending his Come-to-me signal had depleted his reserves and his health. Standing was an effort.
But he couldn’t let Julene scare Emma away. He had to—
“No,” Emma said.
“What did you say?” Julene bit the words out, and a muscle in her cheek twitched.
He switched his gaze to Emma. It was like balm over a cut. She stood casually, an amused smile curving lips that weren’t too full or too thin but just right.
Everything was just right for him. And he’d only met her minutes ago.
He’d never thought that about Julene, though he’d been healthy when they first met, his decline not yet
started.
Eleven months ago. Eleven months that started out with hope and ended in hopelessness.
Only in the last five days had he felt hope again.
Emma looked up at him with her brown eyes that were the most beautiful he’d seen. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked.
He wavered, worried that Julene might harm her.
Julene snickered, the laugh she used for people she thought beneath her. He and Emma remained gazing at each other. The amused smile never left Emma’s face, but her eyes darkened with disappointment.
He turned to Julene. “I want you to leave. We have nothing more to say.”
“You love me.” Fury burned icily in her eyes. “You need me. Stay with me and I’ll make you well.” She twisted to glare at Emma. “I’m going to cure him. Go away. Leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s sick? Can’t you see he’s dying?”
A howl roared up inside him. He shifted his gaze to Emma and saw the smile falling off her face, the tips of her eyebrows rising in distress. He wanted to tell her that Julene was wrong. Wanted to say he was as healthy as a bull in its prime. But the tremors started, and Emma slid her arm around his waist, holding him up.
Already, she knew he was a wreck, though the disease wasn’t showing on the outside yet. He’d seen it happen to his father, and his grandfather before that.
Now it was his turn. Happening too young and too fast.
Soon he would be dead.
Emma shifted her gaze back to him. Lifting her arm from his back, she curved the palm of her hand against his jaw, her fingers soft on the side of his cheek. “I know he’s alive now,” she said.
A hiss came from Julene. He stiffened, the urge to protect Emma paramount. He wouldn’t put anything past Julene in her arrogance and disregard for other humans. The research realm of the medical profession was a good choice for her. With all her brilliance, to be a doctor, to work with people as a healer required one thing she didn’t have.
A heart.
Emma gave Jolene a slight smile. “I can see that you want him to be sick,” she said, her voice quiet but strong. “You want him to depend on you.”
Every Witch Way but Wicked Page 14