The teeth moved closer, sulfuric smoke slipped around them, creating a sound-dulling cocoon that made the thud of nearby fighting appear as if it came from a long tunnel. It was the first clue Draigh had that Ardith was fighting a similar battle.
She was weak. She wouldn’t be able to hold out against a creature like the one he fought. A scream reverberated through the smog and Draigh responded, realizing Ardith was in trouble.
With a roar he sliced the knife in his hand upward, neatly severing the stringy limb that was blocking his arm, and the vampire toppled downward, slamming into him.
The teeth grazed his cheek and fiery pain spread through his face. Draigh snapped his head sideways and lifted his knife again, quickly severing the creature’s neck and shoving the body away as the head thumped onto the floor beside him and black blood started to gush.
The vampire thrashed around until Draigh pierced its bony chest with the knife, twisting it until the thing stopped moving.
The smoke had begun to clear and the room was deathly still.
Ardith.
Draigh squinted through the remaining opacity in the air. Across the huge room, a pair of eyes glowed silver through the residual smoke. His hand clutched the knife more tightly before he realized it was the pup.
Then he saw the crumpled form on the floor beside Sirius. He rushed toward them, dropping to a knee beside the witch. He was terrified to see her lying so still, her beautiful eyes open and looking slightly glazed. “Ardith.” He grabbed a small, soft hand, squeezing it between his own. “Witch, how do you fare?”
To his huge relief she blinked, turning her pale face slowly in his direction. Her tongue came out, sliding across lush lips. Draigh’s cock twitched at the sight. Then she opened her mouth and said, “Well that just sucked.”
Draigh took a deep, relieved breath. He tugged on her hand. “Come. Let’s go find Edana.”
They moved carefully through what was left of the mangled, blown doorway. Inside the room there were signs of Edana having been there. The remains of a meal were scattered across a heavy wooden table. A thick black candle squatted at the table’s center, its ebony wax forming a ragged pool on the wood surface.
A woman’s cloak rested on the back of one chair. And in the corner, a bed, sheets warm and tangled as if freshly abandoned, told a story of recent occupation.
“She’s gone.” Ardith’s voice was strangely husky, monotone, causing Draigh to look at her. It was fortunate he did. Because he was able to catch her before she hit the floor.
The star pup bumped his leg as he caught her with a muttered oath, dragging her up against his chest. A picture formed in his mind and he nodded. “I’ll take care of her, pup.”
Sirius gave a single bark and turned away, his big body dissipating in a shower of silver stars as he left.
Draigh took a moment to gaze down at the lush, delectable woman in his arms. His cock strained against his pants as he took in the rosebud lips and the pale, flawless skin that showed between the torn edges of her shirt. A soft tangle of hair rested against one of the porcelain mounds displayed in the breech. Her jasmine scent enveloped him, tightening his gut with need.
That was when Draigh finally admitted to himself that he wanted the witch. Needed her. And didn’t know if he could wait another moment to have her.
Her chest rose in a deep breath and a soft sound escaped her lips as she released it.
Draigh shook his head and started toward the door. He’d find the nearest portal and take her back to his palace to rest and recover.
It was dangerous to take her there. She was much too serious a temptation to resist for long. Even surrounded by zombies, vampires and gore, he longed to strip her naked and rut with her on the filthy floor.
He feared what a few stolen hours in the privacy of his castle would do to his resistance.
Fortunately—for now at least—the woman was unconscious. Even in his current state of arousal he wasn’t capable of mounting an insensible female.
Though as her scent lifted to tease his senses, Draigh didn’t know if even that would stop him for much longer.
* * * * *
Ardith woke to the soft slough of wind, scented with ozone. The breeze was warm but laden with the moisture of a coming rain. She lay perfectly still, certain any movement would bring pain shooting to the surface of her consciousness. The heavy throb of a headache waited, saving its full power for the moment when her eyes would open.
She determined to deny it for as long as possible. Rather than move she concentrated on using her other senses to figure out where she was. A stronger gust of wind sent her hair swirling briefly against her cheek. In the distance a low pulse of thunder growled a warning.
A storm was coming. Sensitive to natural vibrations, Ardith recognized its rhythm in the air. She narrowed her focus, homing in on the immediate area. The room was silent except for the soft tick of a clock not ten feet away. The surface beneath her was soft, smooth and smelled familiar. Her body clenched, warming as she put a name to the scent.
Draigh’s bed.
Perfect.
“Are you feeling better, m’ lady?”
Ardith’s eyes flew open to find the petite maid standing next to the bed. She struggled to remember the girl’s name.
“I’m Wanda, miss.” The girl smiled prettily and curtsied. “It’s okay if I’m here. Lord Draigh has asked me to tend you and let him know when you wake.”
Ardith frowned. The girl seemed awfully careful about offending. She hoped Draigh wasn’t unkind to her. “It’s fine that you’re here. Why would I mind?”
Wanda glanced at her hands, which Ardith noted were twining nervously. “Oh you wouldn’t, m’ lady. At least I don’t figure as you would.” The girl expelled a quick, soft breath as if frustrated.
Ardith tried to sit up but pain jolted through her head. She bit back a cry and lay back down. “It’s all right, Wanda. Just tell me.”
“It’s just that the lord doesn’t like us in these rooms. He’s a very private man, m’ lady. He’s very kind about it, but we have strict instructions only to do what we must and leave. He asked me to sit with you so I am.”
“Is Lord Piers good to you?”
The girl’s face split in a wide, genuine smile. “Oh yes, m’ lady. Very kind. He just has his ways. And since there are only the three of us…”
Ardith’s eyes widened. “Three?”
“Yes. Me, cook, and Jeoffrey, the butler. Lord Piers keeps a small house. He’s closed off most of the castle because he isn’t here much and he doesn’t have any family…” The girl’s eyes widened and her voice trailed off in horror. “Oh I’m sorry, m’ lady. It’s not my place to speak of the lord’s private affairs.”
Ardith shook her head. “No. That’s fine. Don’t fret, Wanda.” Ardith’s eyes stung. She closed them to soften the sting and then found it was hard to open them again. They felt so heavy and pain speared her head.
“You need to sleep, m’ lady. Just you rest now.”
Ardith felt the covers being straightened around her.
“I’ll keep watch over ye.”
Ardith wanted to stay awake. She wanted to learn more about Draigh and his nearly empty castle. But she was just so tired. She sighed, sleep already sliding over her. “I will. You and I will talk some more. After…”
* * * * *
When Ardith woke sometime later she felt much better, though her head still hurt and her eyes didn’t want to open. It occurred to her that the hunter might be drugging her. She didn’t really believe it, but lying in his bed, in his rooms, was much too dangerous. She needed to get out of there.
Her eyelids fluttered, tried to open.
Too late. The bed dipped and a deep voice broke the silence.
“I brought you something for the pain.”
Ardith forced her eyes open and barely restrained a cry as agony speared her brain. Though the lighting in the room was subdued given the coming storm, even that muted light hu
rt her eyes.
Draigh stood beside the bed, his handsome face filled with concern. He wore tight, black-leather jeans that fit his massive thighs like the finest gloves and a white shirt that he hadn’t tucked or buttoned yet. His silvery-blond hair hung thick and wavy around his face, still damp from a recent shower. She bit her lip as her gaze slipped down the thick column of his throat to the firmly rounded pecs showing beneath the shirt.
She had a sudden urge to lick her way across those pecs and down, following the glistening gold trail into the waistband of his jeans.
She sat up, squinting, and took the small cup from the hunter. “What is it?”
“My own special brew. It will take a large part of the ache away.”
It wasn’t until after she’d swallowed the evil green concoction that Ardith realized the hunter could have poisoned her. She’d taken his brew without questioning. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was wrong with her?
Pushing herself upright, Ardith was unable to keep from grimacing as she tried to climb out of the bed. She felt extremely vulnerable lying there with him hovering over her.
At least that was the reason she told herself she needed to get out of that bed. The clenching of her sexual core at his nearness had nothing to do with it. The increased beat of her heart and the way his incredible scent flowed through her, firing her imagination for the erotic possibilities, were just the result of her weakness.
Nothing more.
She wobbled, almost fell out of the bed, and a big, warm hand grasped her arm to steady her. His touch jolted through her like a bolt of electricity, causing her to gasp.
Draigh dropped her arm as if it burned. “What is it? Have I harmed you?”
She glared at him. “I don’t like to be manhandled, hunter. Keep your paws to yourself.”
In the blink of an eye, Draigh’s face darkened from concern to anger and he nodded. He leaned close, enveloping her in heat and his pure masculine scent. Ardith’s traitorous body tightened in response, her breath locking in her chest. Her fingers twitched against her palms as she fought the desire to reach out and touch his lightly furred chest. “My pleasure. I was only trying to keep my promise to your damn familiar, witch. I assure you I’d not touch you otherwise.”
Mention of Sirius made her halt. “Sirius communicated with you?” Horror slipped icy fingers down Ardith’s spine. No. It wasn’t possible.
The big hunter just shook his head and turned away. “Dress yourself, witch. We have an audience with the elders.”
Ardith watched him stalk away, her heart pounding. She was dazed from all the bad news he’d delivered. First the knowledge that Sirius spoke to him and then the information that they were being dragged before the Huntsman and Lady Penelope to admit their abject failure in finding Edana.
Just wonderful.
And then the third horror hit her between the eyes. Ardith threw the covers back and lowered her feet to the floor. A cool, damp breeze touched her and she sucked in a horrified breath, looking down.
Naked.
As in…zero clothing. Draigh. She surged to her feet, her fists clenched.
Dizziness forced her to grab the bed for support. Straightening a heartbeat later, she reached for her clothing. Her imagination had his hands roaming over her, touching her most private places. She closed her eyes as the thought brought warmth sliding through her, hardening her nipples and tightening the knot of awareness low in her belly.
Ardith was disgusted with herself. That wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected at the thought that he’d groped her in her sleep. Yet it seemed the only reaction her body seemed willing to consider.
* * * * *
Exiting the portal in Salem, Massachusetts, Year of Our Lord 1698, Ardith pulled her long black cloak closer to cover her twenty-first-century clothing and did her best to ignore the hunter. For his part, Draigh seemed unconcerned by her determined attempt to ignore him, throwing only the occasional, semi-curious glance in her direction.
They climbed the wide steps of the Salem Social Club and Draigh pulled the heavy wooden door open, allowing her to sweep through ahead of him.
Ardith’s palms were sweating and she wasn’t sure why. She’d been on equally tough cases in the past. She’d even previously been called before Lady Penelope to give an accounting of her actions. But she’d never come before the council with guilty knowledge of having weakened herself to save a member of the authority.
If she hadn’t allowed Sirius to heal Draigh, she might have caught up to Edana before she got away again. And she might have had the sense to disable the web on that door before it exploded, literally, in her face.
Added to this concern was the fact that she had no idea what the hunter would say when pressed. He could be a ruthless ass, fully capable of throwing her under the proverbial four-wheeled carriage. She didn’t trust him.
The doors to the council chambers swung open as they approached. Blackthorne stood before them, his ebony face perfectly neutral. However, despite the big mage’s ability to give consummate poker face, Ardith saw his gaze swing briefly toward the hunter, speculation running deep in the wide brown eyes. “Welcome, epoch mage.” He inclined his head in Draigh’s direction but didn’t offer a verbal greeting. “The elders await your report.”
Ardith held his gaze, trying to discern the mood beyond the doors. Not a hint of a smile. His gaze was steady and uninformative. It was Blackthorne code. Unfortunately, his stoic expression didn’t bode well. The elders were apparently pissed.
The big man stepped back, allowing them to pass. As Ardith brushed past him he did something he rarely did. He reached out and touched her arm, squeezing it gently.
Horror swamped her. If Blackthorne was offering comfort she was in dire straits.
She blinked up at him, noted the slight incline of his head that she read as encouragement, and took a deep breath as she moved past.
Her gaze slid automatically to Lady Penelope’s throne, finding it empty. Beside her, Draigh stopped suddenly, bending at the waist in a deep bow. “Ladies and gentlemen.”
Ardith’s head whipped around, her eyes widening. The entire council, all thirteen members, was in session. A baker’s dozen of gazes stared at them, cold and judgmental. Just as many pairs of hands lay inert on the glossy table before them. The council was made up of the oldest of the mages, many of whom had been present during the time of strife, as the Salem trials had come to be known.
It was a powerful and terrifying collection of stern faces.
At the center of the long curved table, an extra chair had been pulled up beside Lady Penelope for the Huntsman.
Ardith blinked, amazed at the sight. She nearly forgot to bow. Draigh’s arm bumped her own as a reminder. Ardith bent at the waist, her gaze never leaving the two elders sitting at the center of the table. “My lady.”
Lady Penelope’s dark eyes snapped with temper. Beside her, the Huntsman seemed coldly dispassionate by comparison.
Blackthorne took his place behind Lady Penelope’s left shoulder and inclined his head for the proceedings to start. Without turning, Lady Penelope acknowledged the movement. “Epoch Mage Ardith and Sorceri Bounty Hunter Draigh, we’ve called you before the council,” she hesitated, glanced toward the Huntsman, “and the authority, for discovery. We wish a reporting of your hunt for the rogue witch Edana.”
Draigh’s muscles flexed, but before he could move, Ardith stepped forward. “My lady, we have nearly caught the witch several times—”
“Nearly?” Lady Penelope’s fine, black eyebrows lifted with disdain. “Are we proud of near misses now?”
“No, my lady, I—”
“The witch has created an army of zombies and seems able to sway all manner of creatures to her side,” Draigh offered.
Ardith glared at Draigh. He ignored her.
The Huntsman sat forward. “What do you mean by an army, hunter?”
“It appears to be thousands. The mage and I have killed hundreds of them, along
with several of the more fierce creatures living in La Cité des Muertas. Each time we appear to have her cornered, but as we work our way through her creatures she always disappears.”
“Then approach her when she does not have an army to distract and slow you.” Lady Penelope lifted a delicate hand in dismissal, obviously disgusted by their mental limitations.
“My lady, all due respect, we went to La Cité des Muertas at the Watcher’s instruction. He scried her in his lava pool. She should not have known we were coming. The witch either has powerful spies or she lives in perpetual readiness.”
Sitting next to Lady Penelope, Lady Fredericks, the second most powerful member of the council, lowered a fierce brown gaze on Ardith. “It appears you are not up to the task you have been assigned, mage.”
Ardith opened her mouth.
“Madam councilwoman, please forgive me for interceding on Ardith mage’s behalf,” Draigh interrupted infuriatingly. “She is easily the strongest mage I’ve had the pleasure of working with. I don’t think a lesser mage would have had half the success she has.”
Ardith stared at him, her mouth falling open in shock.
“Then perhaps the fault is yours.” The oldest council member, whose name escaped Ardith, looked down his hunched nose at Draigh. The elderly councilman’s thin lips twisted with disgust. “We were told you were a very talented hunter. But you don’t seem to have contributed much to the hunt, son.”
Draigh gave the white-haired mage a slight bow, not defending himself.
Blackthorne cleared his throat and Ardith blinked, realizing she must speak. “I disagree, sir. The hunter Draigh has been an asset in my search. I would like to continue working with him for the remainder of this hunt. Besides,” she added with a glance in said hunter’s direction, “I don’t want to have to train someone else.”
Draigh stiffened, his body expanding with menace. Ardith thought she heard a growl rumbling in his throat. She barely restrained a smile.
The Huntsman and Lady Penelope put their heads together, speaking too softly to be overheard. Ardith stood straight, feeling self-conscious as the remainder of the council fixed her and Draigh with speculative gazes.
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