by Lauren Dane
He pushed a hand through his hair. Such a bad boy there. She winked and turned, swaying toward the tug on her spell.
The crowd moved aside as she walked, her magick brushing against them, tendrils of their energy drawing back into her, strengthening her as she took a taste of all that paranormal strength in the room. Heady stuff.
Chapter 4
SHE wasn’t surprised that he knew she was there. His awareness of that fact was quite clear as she approached. The energy of his focus on her pricked at her skin. Not painful, but clearly could be if necessary. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her. She knew his eyes were pale green even though the room was dim — eyes locked on her like a predator.
Dominic Bright in the flesh was a punch to the gut. A sensory wallop of total and unbelievable hotness.
Sprawled in a booth in a roped-off VIP section, his physical presence was nearly as large as his magickal one. The dark T-shirt he wore stretched over tight muscles and broad shoulders. Black boots peeked from the bottom of his jeans. Long legs stretched out before him.
Masculine. The man was breathtakingly masculine. Sharp features marked him, heavy-lidded, sexy eyes, a goatee; his shoulder length hair was thick and she wondered what it would feel like between her fingers. His lips promised such carnal delights she had to take a deep breath to steady herself.
His energy was immense. He had reserves she’d lay odds he had no idea how to use. She wondered if he even knew he was a council witch. So much raw power emanated from him she wanted to lean in and take a long sniff.
Since that would undermine her own position and power, and since most people didn’t smell each other in public, she refrained from the aforementioned sniffing and found her own center.
His gaze caressed up her body and settled upon her face. “Welcome to the Heart of Darkness, pretty witch.”
His voice was deep and scratchy. He didn’t yell over the music and yet she heard him perfectly.
She continued her approach, steadying legs that may have buckled had she been a lesser woman, stopping finally when her thighs touched the table. The scent of his magick hung about him like a heavy cloak. And fed her like she’d been starving.
“Mr. Bright, you’ve been a very naughty boy.”
“So I’ve been told a time or two. I take it you’re Clan Owen here to spank me.”
“I bet you have.” But she wasn’t there about that. Not until she finished this other business at the very least. She modulated her voice, not yelling, but whispering on the wind. “You tapped into Owen property without asking.”
His eyelids slid down just a little and she nearly moaned when he licked his lips. “Very nice. All that sex and magick … potent.”
One of her brows rose as she favored him with a smile. This one was a charmer.
“But you’re not a hunter.”
He knew enough to understand at least something of the structure of a clan. Ignorance wouldn’t be his excuse for theft then. “If I was, we wouldn’t be talking. We don’t want to kill you. We’re not like that. Most of the time. We just want you to ask nicely when you take our property.”
“Would you like to sit?” Goddess, his mouth was an ode to the creator. The way it quirked up just a bit when he finished a sentence was a sight burned into her retinas.
Her gaze flicked over the women splayed on either side of him before moving back to his face. She wouldn’t spill Owen business in public. Nor did she want to share his attention with anyone else. “I’d prefer to speak with you in private.”
He stood, stepping over the women carefully, and Meriel tried not to gulp like a sixteen-year-old girl. He moved the few feet to her, his energy barely leashed. It was a good thing she stood nearly six feet tall because Dominic easily topped six and change.
“Shall we go to my office?” He motioned with his hand and she allowed him to steer her, his hand at the small of her back. That touch nearly undid her.
Dominic had felt the Owen witch the minute she walked through the doors out front. Her power rolled through the building, slid through him, velvet and warm. Her presence coursed through his veins. She’d sent out her spell as he watched her drink with Simon at the bar.
He liked the way she tasted on the air. Bright and spicy. Dusky and earthy too. Her spell was clever and apparently effortless. Something like that might take him a few hours to create. He admired it, even as he kept out of range.
Unreasonable anger sparked when Simon did what Simon did best. Dominic had stewed as the Were put his hand on her waist and she responded, standing close and flirting. The closer she moved to Simon the more agitated Dominic had become until finally grabbing her spell and tugging hard to snag her attention. When she’d turned and he saw her face, really saw her face, he’d hesitated a moment, fascinated. Beauty and power, a very potent combination in any woman.
Watching her approach had been worth giving her his location earlier than he’d planned. She moved like sex, rhythmic, smooth like honey. Generous curves filled out the snug shirt and he liked the look of her legs with the short skirt and mid-calf Frye boots she wore.
Shit kickers, those boots. They sealed the deal as far as he was concerned. Another woman would be teetering in sky-high stilettos, but this one looked just as hot and she’d have been able to run his ass down if he gave her trouble.
He didn’t know a whole lot about the universe of clan witches, but he’d done some digging on Owen when he’d decided to use the back rooms there as a club for Others. This one was the daughter of the leader Edwina Owen. Next in line.
In a world of beautiful women, this one lodged herself in his attentions. He wanted more of her, which was interesting in and of itself. Powerful, so powerful he fought the urge to drag his tongue up her throat to get a taste. She held it to herself, snug. Tightly controlled just like the rest of her. He wanted to muss her up. Repeatedly.
Unbelievably, after less than ten minutes of seeing her, he had a mighty big want on for the delicious Ms. Owen.
He usually avoided sexual interludes with other witches. He was outclan and his unaffiliated status tended to make clan witches territorial. Before he’d been with them a few months they started talking about clan affiliation.
And he wasn’t a joiner.
But he couldn’t shake the image of her spread beneath him, naked, writhing, her body offered up to his hands and mouth like the feast she so clearly was. Without a doubt, he knew he needed to sink balls-deep into this woman’s body, and as soon as possible.
The hallway from the club back to his office was far quieter than in the club itself. He caught the sound of her breath, the hiss of fabric as they walked. Her scent wisped in her wake, seducing, teasing, but not giving him enough to satisfy.
He found himself wanting to slow down. Wanting to stretch out all the time he had with her. He must have done it because she reached his office and turned back to him, waiting.
He approached, not hiding the way he ate her up with his gaze. But when he reached around her body to use the small spell to unlock his door, their magick mingled for long moments. Tugging low in his belly, mimicking sexual attraction.
Interesting.
“Please, have a seat,” he said as they entered and he closed his door.
“I’m Dominic Bright, I didn’t properly introduce myself out there.” He bowed slightly, remembering he had some manners.
She waved a casual hand. “I know who you are. I’m Meriel Owen. We both know who the other is. Now, care to explain why you’re drawing from our font without permission?”
Up-front, this witch. He should just get it over with. He knew it. He needed to pay his dues or whatever. But the flavor of her magick all around him made him crave more. He wanted to spar, to whet his appetite for her.
“The wards here are for the good of all. I can’t see why you’d begrudge me that tiny bit of power.” He shrugged, spreading his hands out to appear reasonable.
She exhaled, clearly annoyed.
It only spurred him on.
“Begrudging.” She rolled her eyes. “Really, Mr. Bright. If we begrudged you, we’d be teenage girls.” She shrugged. “Certainly we wouldn’t be powerful enough for you to be concerned when you shoplift from our font.” When she cocked her head, her hair slid forward, red, burgundy, threads of gold glinting in the light. He wondered what it would feel like. Before he reached to find out, he busied his hands with a pen.
“You’re using our magick and you haven’t asked. Clearly the nature of this place mandates strong wards to prevent exposure. And you know our position on exposure. So while Clan Owen is certainly sympathetic to your problem, the bigger issue remains.”
Yes, he knew the prevention of exposure was paramount to their people. And yes, he tended to agree that keeping what they were on the down low was a very good thing.
“Lastly, you’re a businessman, Mr. Bright. If I had a drink here, I’d have to ask for it and offer some sort of payment for it.”
“Or be so fucking sexy a Lycian prince buys you one.”
She smiled and he felt a corresponding tug in his groin. She shrugged and went on, “We all have our little bonuses in life. But in any case, you get my point. The font exists to be used by all witches within this clan. We don’t quibble with another witch using it. But there are rules and even an outclan witch knows to ask.”
He didn’t like asking any more than he liked rules. Damned witches and their rule obsession. Plus, he knew he’d have to give them information about himself, an in to his own magickal signature. He didn’t like anyone having knowledge about him that they could use.
Perceptive brown eyes looked into his. Reading him. Knowing. Saw through the outer facade, right into his soul. He didn’t like that she got him so well, much less the fact that he’d known her all of twenty minutes.
Just for the briefest of moments, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. But that brief moment was enough to send shards of desire splintering through his system. Her presence affected him so much he’d have suspected magicks, but there were none. He had excellent personal shields; he’d have known if she had attempted to ensorcell him. Just being near, the taste of her magick on his skin, had rendered him slightly punch-drunk.
He didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust anything that fast and intense.
She finally spoke, breaking the silence and saving him from the urge to blurt out that he wanted to take her back to his place and strip her naked. He wanted to see what sunrise looked like on her neck, what shadows it would create in the hollow of her throat, the dip of her belly button.
“I can close my eyes when you share magick with me, if that helps. That’s it, right?”
He paused, the words stuck in his throat. Perceptive. So much so he found himself ruffled by it. He cleared his throat. “I don’t share magick very often,” he said, his annoyance clear in his voice. Enough that her eyebrows rose in response.
She sat forward, choosing her words carefully. “Look, I get that you’re probably unaffiliated for a reason and we respect that. We’re a clan, not a cult. We’re all members by choice. Others make different choices and that’s fine too. I respect your choice. But the font is powered by every witch in the clan and they all agree to let others use it as long as everyone shares. That’s how it works. We all pay in. We all can use it. If we let you shoplift, others will too. And then what’s the point? You don’t want to be in a clan, that’s your choice. But it’s not your choice to steal from us. We won’t allow it.”
She paused, letting what she’d said sink in. He’d never mistake her for a pushover, pretty face or not. She was a smart, savage woman who’d kick his ass from Seattle to Toronto if she had to. Which only made him want more.
Her voice softened, “No one can get into your head. No one can steal your magick.”
“But that’s how the font works. You take power from witches in the clan.”
She made a face, first annoyed, then confused. Strangely, he wanted to laugh.
“No, that’s not how the font works.” She twisted the bracelet on her left wrist and he saw her clan mark. A pretty, stylized O for Owen. “Has no one ever explained it to you?”
He shook his head. He didn’t need her pity. “I’ve been told enough to get by. I wasn’t raised in a clan. My foster father was my teacher but he’s unaffiliated.”
She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Fair enough. I’m not insulting your intelligence or what you were taught, but you don’t understand how it works. When you expend magick — if you’re keyed into the font — the magick once performed will absorb back. It’s a collector of sorts.”
She must have seen his confusion.
“Okay, so you know energy never dies, it simply turns into something else. That’s physics. It’s not like I made it up. Anyway, the font doesn’t steal your magick. It collects whatever the magick dissipates into once the function is served. Like a cistern collects rainwater, for example. Only the dissipated energy once collected, will mature into magickal energy over time and be there should anyone need it.
“Essentially, if you were a registered user of the font, each time someone walked through those wards, a glimmer of energy would travel back to the font. But it can’t because you’re not keyed in. It’s either wasted or it amps up the witches here in the club. I don’t own a nightclub but I know enough to think that’s a dumb idea. Alcohol, pheromones and added magickal power is an unstable combination.”
She sat back, crossing her legs, flashing a slice of pale inner thigh. Good goddess, any minute he was going to drool or something. Even so, he wasn’t so far gone that he failed to notice the intelligence she possessed, the calm confidence with which she carried herself.
“We’re not like some of the other clans. I’m not here to hurt you, although I’d like to bite you, right there on your biceps. Just because it looks tasty.” She blushed a little bit, like she was surprised by her own words. He understood the feeling, being off balance at the moment as well.
“You should feel welcome to bite any part of me you like. Within reason.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Then her flirty nature disappeared as she clearly got back to business. “You have to key in or we’ll cut you off. We don’t negotiate on this. If you try to get into the font again, I won’t be back but our hunters will and they’re not nearly as nice as I am.” She shrugged after relaying the threat.
“You say no one has to be clan but clearly they do.”
She made a face, disappointed in that response. “You’re too pretty to be a whiner. Look, you’re powerful, I can see that, but you don’t have enough skill to ward this place on your own. You can key in with me, which I hasten to add will not automatically make you a member of Clan Owen. You’d have access to the font and, let’s be honest, shall we, some goodwill that might allow this place to stay open in our territory. Or you can try it on your own, without our font. You and I both know how that will end.”
“And then you’d be really hard to convince to go out with me.”
She paused and blushed, just a little. The openness of the moment slowed that time in between them for long moments.
She’d spent every day of her entire life around witches. There was always something comfortable about that. Sometimes it was also exciting or even arousing depending on the other witch. But this connection they had, the way she couldn’t stop thinking about touching him, the way the stamp of his magick caught her breath, that was something different. Deeper. A little scary and a lot exhilarating.
As it happened, she liked this man a lot and it pleased her to know he felt the same. He flirted really well too.
“Yes, very likely I’d be quite annoyed if you made me come all the way down here and refused to key in and then called me to ask me on a date. Say to Turandot, which is in town and something I quite love.” Her lips twitched into a breath of a smile before she resumed her best attempt at a calm expression.
“And, if you like, I can give you a b
it of a primer on other things you may not know or understand about us.”
“I could key in with you?”
“Of course.” She waited for him to think over his answer. She wasn’t going to push him to rush his choice. He was a businessman, he’d know he had to do it to keep that doorway hidden. But he’d have to find a way to accept it because she had plenty of power to cut him off right then and there. One brief spell and she’d unravel all those ties to the font and his spellwork would slowly die off without all the energy he’d been thieving.
“And other things? I could do other things with you?”
She couldn’t deny it. When they did end up in bed, there’d be teeth marks and no few scratches. There was so much something between them. Energy? Yes, but that wasn’t quite it. Chemistry, yes. Attraction, sure. Potential. Yes, that’s what it felt like.
“Let’s start with keying in and we can discuss your definition of other things.” Her insides jittered, thrilled at the idea of working magick with him. Her power flowed, building within, filling, filling as she drew her shields away. Never had it been like this with anyone before.
Normally her magick would rise as she let her shields down, but this was a rush of energy. Surging in reaction to his. She knew she teased him now with hers. Knew tendrils of it slid over his, seducing. It brought her to her metaphorical knees.
The building could fall down around them and it wouldn’t matter. There was nothing else she wanted to do in the world but share magick with Dominic Bright.
“Do I have your permission to ward this room and set a circle?”
He’d been caught by the looks of her. Fascinated and ensnared by all the parts of her. Been impressed by her demeanor and intelligence. But the surge of her energies had washed over and through him with such force it was physical. His own shields had slid aside and his magick rose in response. The pleasure of it shocked straight to his toes. And another place or two.
Clearly working magick with a council witch was a far more intense thing than with a commonwealth witch. Whatever it was, it felt awesome and he wanted a lot more.