by Erin Hayes
She looked up at him, at that face that had held so many of her dreams. He was looking at her, too. The anger, the passion—it was as evident as ever as they floated so high that they pressed against the ceiling.
And then, just like that, he pushed off the ceiling and sent them back toward the ground. All the magic melted away, and in that moment, it was just them. Unfiltered, no magic necessary, Roman thrusting into her until finally she rocketed over the edge and into an orgasm that made her entire body shiver.
Only he could bring both the woman and the witch in her out like this.
Roman climaxed as well, spilling his seed inside of her and, for the first time, kissing her mouth. He rolled off of her and they both stared up at the ceiling for a long time before Roman tilted his head to face her.
“You might say otherwise, Julia Fairweather. You might even marry someone else. But you are mine.”
His hand moved down to her pussy, his fingers grazing against her all-too-sensitive pussy. “This is mine.” He kissed her again. “And you will always belong to me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Roman spent the rest of that day with his head spinning. The idea that Julia believed in him gave him strength. Even if April might have believed he was capable of doing something like murdering that Aria woman, Julia didn’t.
And that meant everything.
April might have given up on him and Julia. But they hadn’t given up on each other, and that was all that mattered.
He toured the streets of Savannah, looking at the people and places that lined River Street for what might have been the first time in years. This place had always been his home and, like one is known to do, he had begun to neglect it.
This place, with all the beauty of the old South, had become run-of-the-mill to Roman. When Julia had left it, it was as though she had taken all the light with her.
But now she was back and, with her, everything that made this place special, everything that made it sparkle.
The sun began to set, hanging low over the river. Crowds were beginning to form on the streets. Savannah had always had a hell of a nightlife, and he had always been part of it more or less. Roman was never one to turn down a stiff drink and a loose woman. Even when he had been with Julia before, he could have been found guilty of allowing his eye to wander a time or two.
Now however, things were different. He felt secure and content—as if no other person in the world mattered but her.
And along with that clarity came another realization: He had to keep her safe.
This feud had gone on too long. That was for sure. But it wasn’t the feud that worried him. Blood feuds between covens were a dime a dozen. They usually simmered under the surface with nothing more than hard feelings and discouraging looks to show for themselves. But this feud had erupted into war. And it was a war that Roman felt responsible for.
If he hadn’t gone to the gypsies, if only the Crawley hadn’t given him that horrible task—if only he hadn’t accepted it—perhaps Adam would still be alive. Perhaps the entire world wouldn’t be on this downward spiral. Perhaps the promise of happiness wouldn’t seem like a cruel joke.
Roman stopped at a Greek place, the one he used to sneak off to with Julia. He loved their gyros, but he hadn’t been there in over a year. Something about the place made it feel as if he was betraying her. Now that she was back, now that he knew for sure that she wanted him, the place practically called his name.
He ordered a gyro without onion and took a seat. He could still taste her on his lips, feel her on his fingertips. She was everything to him. But she had made no promises; technically, she was still engaged to another man. He was ready to admit that to himself now. And damn if he didn’t like the freedom that came with that admission.
As he dug into the sandwich, dipping the loose meat into a cup of extra sauce, his mind went to work.
Something wasn’t quite adding up for him. Something about the death of Aria Fairweather felt off. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on what it might be.
If it hadn’t been him that offed the old witch (and it hadn’t), then who did? It couldn’t have been anyone in the Blackwood coven. He’d have known if it was. His father would have brought him into the conversation if he was planning on a hit that big.
That left the possibility of a rogue witch within their ranks, someone who went out of turn to make a name for themselves. Somehow, Roman doubted that. His father was a hard ass—one of the worst the coven had ever seen. No one would have the stones to risk pissing him off and, if they did, they certainly wouldn’t do it now. This was war, and everyone knew that, in wartime, you take orders.
There was also the chance that this was unrelated—that Aria had made an enemy or two in her long life and one of them had finally decided to come calling.
Though that was more likely, he still didn’t believe it. The coincidence was too big.
Perhaps some assassin or far off coven leader decided to take the opportunity to frame the Blackwoods for such a high profile killing. After all, who better to pin a murder on than the people your target is currently at war with?
But even that line of thinking took Roman’s father out of the equation. Anyone who wanted to frame his family for something would pay with their life and the lives of their loved ones. Everyone knew that.
And besides, it still didn’t feel right.
Roman couldn’t shake the feeling that this was connected somehow, like the murderer was hiding right under his nose.
But who?
Another possibility dawned on him as he finished the sandwich.
He may have started all of this, but he wasn’t the only reason it was happening. Things had changed quickly when Julia returned. The landscape was already shifting, and there had been no bigger shift than those bayou bastards coming up from Louisiana to stick their troublesome noses into Savanah witch business. So what if they had something to do with it?
Even thinking it, Roman knew it was a reach. He thought about what April would say to him. She would tell him that he was just upset Julia was engaged to marry one of them. That was why he was laying blame on the Louisiana coven without even a shred of evidence.
And maybe she was right. His sister was smart, after all. And Roman was too close to this to be able to think his way around it rationally. He knew that. But he also knew his gut, and he knew when it was trying to tell him something…like it was right now.
Those backwater witches had something to do with this. He couldn’t prove it yet, but that’s what evidence was for.
He was just going to have to get some.
Common sense told Roman that the Wheelers were likely staying in one of the secondary Fairweather estates. There was a small chance that they would be in the manor, but Roman didn’t want to think about Julia and Paris living in such close quarters. Not yet—not ever.
Besides, times were dangerous, and Roman doubted Julia’s grandfather would allow guests as prestigious as the Wheelers to wake and sleep in harm’s way. No, they would be as safe and sound as a time like this would allow. And they would also be in the lap of luxury.
Knowing this made finding them relatively easy.
The Fairweathers had three estates in Savannah in addition to the houseboat that Roman had singlehandedly destroyed. The nicest of them was Crescent House. It was well over a hundred years old and—while a few miles away from town in Hardeeville—it was almost comparable with the family manor in terms of size, stature, and luxury.
This is where the Wheelers were. Roman had no doubt.
He pulled to a stop a quarter of a mile away from the house. Using the baking soda, fresh cut violets, and duck liver he brought in his backpack, he cast a shielding spell.
It was simple magic. Clean, but effective. It would do the job of allowing him to fly under the radar as he watched the Wheelers from a distance.
He pulled up to Crescent House, his new car under the shield of the spell and parked across the street. He had
an unobstructed view of the estate and—with the magic in place—he didn’t have to worry about being seen. This was an old-fashioned stake out, just like in the movies his grandfather used to watch with him when he was a kid.
The characters in those movies always had a partner though—a sidekick to help pass the time. Roman had no one like that anymore. His family wouldn’t approve of this action, he lost most of his friends when he started dabbling in dark magic, and it wasn’t as if he could take Julia along for this. No. He was on his own here. Luckily, he’d remembered to pack an iPad and a Snicker bar along with the magical supplies.
Crescent House looked quiet now. All that was left to do was wait.
And wait he did.
Roman was halfway through the second season of Breaking Bad when he noticed the first signs of life. He had been there for hours now, so long that he wished he had brought another candy bar.
The sun was long set and Walter White was in the middle of yet another bad decision when he saw a man walking to one of the cars lining the driveway.
He couldn’t see the man’s face, only that red Wheeler hair as the man strode to the car. Still, Roman could tell from his basic build that this was Paris. It was hard to forget the way someone looked after they had almost killed you.
Roman weighed his options as Paris cranked up the engine and pulled away. Even if this did have something to do with the Wheelers, Roman doubted Paris was involved. He stunk too much of simplicity for that. Still, Roman had been here for a while now, and if he didn’t take this opportunity, the house might be quiet for the rest of the night.
He couldn’t take that risk. Even if following Paris turned out to be a dead end, at least he’d know that. And hell, he could grab a taco afterward or something. So the night wouldn’t be a total loss.
Roman set out after his woman’s future husband, keeping more than a few car lengths between them. Now that he was on the move, the spell that had kept him shielded would be lifted.
He followed Paris all the way back into the heart of Savanah. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Roman wondered if the boy was on his way to meet Julia. Perhaps what Roman was spying on was the beginnings of a date.
That was one way to turn him into a full-fledged stalker.
Roman breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Paris took a left on Abercon, moving away from Fairweather Manor.
When the man parked and walked toward a coffee shop, Roman followed. He knew better than to get too close, though. The coffee shop was small and, even if he could pass the both of them being there off as some far-fetched coincidence, there was always the chance that Paris would want to continue the fight they’d started the other day.
While Roman was itching for a chance to redeem himself, making sure Paris wasn’t involved in anything shady took top priority tonight.
Luckily, there was an outdoor café across the street from the coffee shop, and there was enough foot traffic tonight that Roman could be reasonably comfortable that he wouldn’t be spotted.
Even better was the fact that roses sat in vases at every one of the tables in the shop. As Paris sat down in front of one, Roman ordered a glass of water and wedge of lime.
Using that, the rose would basically be a microphone, broadcasting everything Paris said and reverberating it off the water in the glass.
Of course, Paris would actually have to be meeting someone for that to work.
As it was, that didn’t seem to be the case. And, while having your nose buried in Catcher in the Rye for three hours at a crowded coffee shop made you the worst kind of pretentious douchebag, it didn’t make you a liar or a murderer.
Roman was about to leave when he saw her walk in.
It wasn’t the Fairweather he expected, but that didn’t stop Roman from furrowing his eyebrows when he saw Cassandra step through the door.
She looked around, hesitating in the doorway, before crossing the café floor and seating herself across from Paris.
Were they having an affair right under Julia’s nose?
A spike of rage ran through Roman. To think that Paris could do something like that. He had her—actually had her—and what did he do about it? Snuck off with a cousin of hers that couldn’t hold a candle to Julia’s beauty or intellect.
Roman thought about rushing in there, kicking Paris’ ass once and for all, exposing Cassandra as the slutty turncoat she was, and taking Julia somewhere far away from the people who would hurt her like this.
But he still had no proof. All the pair had done so far was meet for coffee. He needed to wait a little longer. After that, Roman Blackwood would do what he had to.
“Amplify,” Roman whispered and listened as the rose transmitted the sounds of the conversation going on across the street right to him.
Cassandra shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, brushing hair out of her eyes.
“Were you followed?” Paris asked, taking a sip of coffee and looking around the room.
No, Roman thought. But you were.
“Do I look like a child, Wheeler?” Cassandra scoffed. “No one followed me.”
“Just making sure,” Paris drawled. “No need to get so defensive.”
“Really?” Cassandra leaned across the table. “I would think that, after the shit you just pulled, you’d have repentance on your mind.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Roman, that Blackwood scum,” Cassandra barked.
Roman bristled at the mention of his name. Did Cassandra know he was here? Had she caught sight of him as she entered the shop and, if so, what was she going to do about it?
“What about him?” Paris asked. “He’s no concern. I came pretty close to putting his ass six feet under.” He took another drink. “Right alongside that brother of his.”
Heat flashed through Roman’s face. Paris Wheeler would pay for that.
“But you didn’t,” Cassandra said. “You had a chance to take him out, and you didn’t take it.”
“Because Julia was standing right there,” Paris said. “I couldn’t exactly kill her lover with her in front of me. I’d have a hard time getting her to trust me after that.”
“You wouldn’t have needed her to trust you after that,” Cassandra growled. “How many times do I have to tell you? The longer the two of them are even in the same world together, the worse off we are.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Paris waved her off, which seemed to irk Cassandra to no end. Paris continued, “You told me yourself—Julia doesn’t even want to lead the coven, and God knows that mess of a Blackwood man isn’t in any position to. They’re the past.” He leaned forward. “We’re the future.”
Cassandra slammed her fist against the table. Paris reeled back, and a couple at a nearby table gasped. Several of the café’s patrons glared at them, but Cassandra’s scowling face never lifted from Paris. She muttered something and, in a whiff of magic, they went on about their business as if nothing had happened.
Lucky for Roman, he was far enough away not to be affected.
“Calm down,” Paris said through gritted teeth. “If you wanted him dead, you should have been clearer about it. As far as I knew, you just wanted my help killing off some family members standing in your way and making it look like the Blackwoods did it. Is that not good enough anymore?”
“Are you really that stupid?” Cassandra threw her arms in the air and then let her hands fall to her sides. “Julia talks to the fucking ancestors, Paris—and they’ve seen every thing we’ve done over the last few years. The only reason you’re here is to distract her now that she’s back in town! Now throw Roman in the mix: He’s the heir apparent—not only to his family’s fortune, but to the dark magic that the Blackwoods used to ravage Savannah in the first place. There aren’t two more dangerous people in the world to us than them. But they’re not dangerous when they’re not together.”
Cassandra looked around again, swallowing hard. “They think being together makes them strong, but they co
uldn’t be more wrong. It pulls their focus. It gives them pause. It leads them to believe there’s something more important than power.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Paris asked. “If being together gets them out of your hair, then why not let them be together? Why have me get engaged to her at all?”
“Because there are different kinds of strength,” she said, clicking her tongue. “And, while being together at this moment in their lives doesn’t necessarily bring out the best in either of them, there’s no way for me to be sure that will continue. They’re insanely powerful as individuals. If they manage to actually get their shit together as a couple, nothing in this witchy world will be able to stop them.”
“Lucky for you that I’m here,” Paris said, taking another swig of coffee.
“That’s not enough.” Cassandra took his coffee from him and set it aside. “You’re blowing it.”
“I’m killing it. What the hell are you talking about?”
“She’s not convinced,” Cassandra said. “You asked why I engineered an engagement between the two of you. It was so that you could seduce her, take her mind off that Blackwood boy just enough to throw her off guard. I figured a man who wished to rule the pieces of the Blackwood coven that was to be left behind in my wake could do at least that.” She scoffed. “I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
“This isn’t an issue, Cassandra,” Paris said, his eyes driving into her seriously.
“The hell it isn’t.” She crossed her arms and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “She’s pulling away from you. Heck, you never had her in the first place! And when she finally decides that your ginger ass isn’t what she wants and isn’t something she’s capable of going through with, she’s going to run straight to him. We can’t risk that.”
“What are you suggesting?” Paris asked. “You want me to kill Roman Blackwood?”
“That would only solve half the problem, and it might light a fire under Julia that would drive her to want to take the reins after all. I can’t have that. Julia taking over would mean the end for us, and we’ve worked way too hard to let that happen.”