This Wicked Magic

by Michele Hauf

  “Wasn’t your fault.”

  She managed a weak smile, but he sensed she’d been pushed to some edge and had fallen. Wrapping the blanket about her, she then performed a bra removal without exposing herself to him.

  “I’ll toss them in the dryer.” He dangled the sheer white bra. “Does this need special care?”

  She shook her head. “Dryer’s fine.”

  “Go sit down.” He kissed her wet head. “I’ll be right back.”

  She turned and shuffled to the couch, where instead of sitting, she folded herself into an upright ball on the gray velvet cushions.

  Earlier when he’d clung to her on the threshold, she’d said she didn’t want to do this anymore. Neither did he. Not if it caused the one perfect thing in his life pain.

  Swallowing down a vicious curse, CJ inwardly screamed at his demonic passengers. But he couldn’t let on to them how desperately his heart ached to see Vika in such a state. Already they were aware she was special to him. The pain demon had known. Any chance they got, they would use that against him. The deadliest cuts struck to the heart.

  The washer and dryer were located off the bathroom. He shuffled out of his jeans and tossed them in the dryer. Vika’s delicate bra gave him pause, but she’d said it would be okay, so he tossed that in, as well. Claiming a folded pair of black jeans, worn and torn at the seams, he pulled them on, toweled off his wet hair and grabbed a clean towel for Vika.

  He gently patted her hair with the towel, she sitting there with her eyes closed and shivering lips. When she opened her eyes, she touched his forearm where Pain had dragged the jagged metal down his skin. It had hurt like a mother. And every moan, every shout had only bolstered the demon into writhing ecstasy.

  “It’s healed,” she whispered in a tiny voice.

  He kissed her forehead. “Yes.” He forced himself to go make tea. A stupid ritual, but the hot liquid should warm her up.

  You could wrap her in your arms and simply hold her. That would warm her.

  But he had no right to touch her like that now. He’d destroyed the trust they’d built over the past few days.

  He put the teapot on the stove and sighed, glancing over his shoulder to the shivering witch. “Welcome to my nightmare.”

  * * *

  The azure chandelier above the comfy gray sofa cast blue shimmers against the surrounding clear crystals. The effect was strangely calming, and staring at it brought Vika into her body and to a place of stillness. Shivers dissipated as she focused on the colored light beams as if they were lifelines.

  Wanting more than anything to walk away and be done with the dark witch and his manic infestation of demons, instead she’d moved as if by rote when CJ had directed her to disrobe. Defeated and out of sorts, she’d simply complied, as if the soul bringer were requesting she do the same. Shivers had encompassed her body, but now she was warming thanks to the soft thermal blanket wrapped tightly about her limbs. She’d stay because leaving this protective cocoon felt impossible right now.

  That thing—Pain or CJ—had almost tossed her down the stairs. It was difficult to look at him without cringing, yet logically she knew the man had nothing to do with it. CJ had hurt himself at the direction of Pain. She cringed forward to remember his bloody wounds stirred to streaks by the rain, and how Pain had laughed and then moaned as if harming CJ’s body were an erotic turn-on.

  Would he—it—have laughed at her had she tumbled down the stairs, surely breaking bones?

  Don’t think about it. That didn’t happen. You were able to get into the light.

  CJ sat on the couch next to her and handed her a cup of black tea. The glass cup fit into her palms, and the warmth quickly traveled up her arms, seeking her core.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m just...so sorry.”

  She sipped the cinnamon brew and it slid down her throat, bringing her back to life, to the surface, where she bobbed for air yet wasn’t sure if she could find a steady rock to land.

  “Stop apologizing,” she said. “We know it wasn’t you. I just needed a few minutes to collect my thoughts.”

  He nodded, his head bowed and his hands clasped between his legs before him. He smelled like rain. His bare, broad shoulders were rounded, defeated, revealing more spellwork tattoos. Were none designed to protect him from demonic possession? It was sad to see him like this, but at the same time, Vika couldn’t quite rally to head his cheer-up crew.

  Tonight they’d been beaten by the demon.

  Yet despite her revulsion, she wanted to be here, sitting quietly beside him, because home felt too far away right now. And she was too tired to leave. They needed to be together, to come to terms with the unspoken alliance they had entered into with a few kisses, touches and promised trust.

  Outside the rain continued to clatter the windows, yet the lightning had ceased. Vika hoped they were safe from another power outage. If the lights went out again, she was doomed.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice cracking on the final word.

  “Scuffed the skin on my palm, but otherwise, I’m just shaken.”

  And bruised, her consciousness whispered. Your heart has been bruised.

  That made little sense to her. Her heart could be bruised only if she felt something about the man beyond the desire to clean him up.

  You do.

  CJ took her hand and examined the palm, carefully touching around the tenderness. It hurt, but she didn’t pull away. Placing his palm flat against hers, the one covered with black tattoos, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Flesh, bone, blood, vita.”

  Heat scoured her palm, but not painfully. Rather, it was as if she’d placed her hand in a bowl of warm water. With a tightening of her skin, CJ then kissed her palm and relented.

  The abrasion had healed. Vika had been witness to witches who could heal before, but never so quickly. If this was his magic depleted, then she would marvel to see him at full potential. Yet it had been his perceived power that had compelled her to explore the dark witch. Indeed, a witch’s greatest power originated in the minds of others.

  “Thank you.” A few more sips of tea slowed her frantic heartbeats. “Those healing tattoos are amazing. Your cuts are healed, as well. Is it just the one tattoo on your arm?”

  “Here.” He touched his biceps where the circular healing sigil had been tattooed in black. “I’ve also one on my hip and my right foot.”

  She sat upright and moved closer to Certainly’s body, not quite touching. To look over the artwork on his skin distracted from other devastating experiences. “You’ve so many tattoos. You said from the ink witch?”

  “Yes, Sayne. One of few ink witches remaining in the world.”

  Tapping the back of his tattooed hand, she then traced the design carefully. “Are they all spells?”

  “All, save one.” He held up his right arm to display the wrist. Vika studied the delicate design of a rose with barbed wire twisted throughout its petals. “Thoroughly and Merrily—my twin brother and our older sister—have the same. It’s in remembrance of our mother. Witch hunters got her like they got your grandmother.”

  A hot tear wobbled in Vika’s eye. “I’m sorry. The tattoo is beautiful.” Though she didn’t ask why the barbed wire. She could guess, knowing how the ignorant tortured witches, and it was unsettling. “Someday, I’d like to learn about all your tattoos. Especially the ones on your hand.”

  She traced the innate lines on his palm that had been there since birth, and then the black spellwork. The center featured a sak yant design in an eye shape with scribbles she guessed could be Arabic, but could be some demonic tongue for all she knew.

  “What does this one do?” She traced the eye.

  “Entrance and closure. Opens me to receive, and as well, when combined with other spells on my body, can give me access to another witch’s spells. But I can also use it to repel magics.”

  “And these lines around your thumb?”

  “Focus. I can trap a person’s focu
s with a snap of my finger. Or deepen my concentration beyond a meditative state.”

  “That sounds dangerous. Like you could go into a catatonic state.”

  “Almost. I use it now on the nights when I lie awake under the lights.”

  They held gazes for so long, Vika thought she heard her heart cry out. It was a small cry, one she found unfamiliar. A needy, yet understanding vocalization pulsing through her veins. She turned on the couch to face him and slid a palm along his cool cheek.

  Bruised internally, but so ready to heal.

  CJ’s hair was wet still, and his skin so cool. His gaze did not sway as she followed her fingers along the stubble edging his jaw, and before his ear and along the hairline, framing his masculine structure. The demon mark remained, a modena of violence marring his neck. She touched his lips and found them as cool as hers felt. The rain had been relentless, scouring their bodies as mercilessly as Pain had tortured this dark one.

  “We survived,” she whispered. “One, along with the other, cushlamocree.”

  Kissing him was the only thing she wanted to do. Ever. Settling softly against his mouth, hushing her breath against his, breathing in his careful sigh. Legs coiled up to her chest beneath the blanket, she leaned against his chest and spread her fingers over his jaw.

  His utter sadness at having hurt her and pushed her around wavered out from him in tangible vibrations. He regretted deeply. She kissed away the regret, hoping to polish his confidence. Quietly, she told him the trust between them had been tried, and it had survived, albeit tattered.

  “My sister Eternitie believes nothing is coincidence,” she said. “That the people who pass in and out of our lives, no matter how fleeting, do so for a reason. So maybe you’re here to mess up my life.”

  “It needed mussing. But not like this, Vika.” He touched her shoulder, and she winced. “It’s bruised here. Hell, I’m so sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” She kissed him and held there, unwilling to break the contact, the blissful connection of their lives breathing in and out from one another.

  Outside, a streak of lightning flashed, but no thunder followed. The storm had retreated. As had the chaos occupying this dark witch’s soul.

  Vika let the blanket fall off one shoulder, and she nuzzled her body as close as she could against his, her breasts cushioning against his hard chest.

  “I saw the demon in your eyes,” she whispered. “Do you think I could capture it with a soul gaze?”

  When two witches held each other’s stare, it was called a soul gaze. They could read the other’s soul, all the goodness and evil painted across it.

  “You don’t want to look into anything I’ve residing within my soul, Vika. Great Hecate, haven’t you seen enough?”

  Closing her eyes, she nodded and whispered against his mouth, “Touch me.” She clasped her hand within his and pressed his knuckles against her breast. “Make me yours.”

  “I... Vika?”

  “It’s just us now. And a gazillion chandeliers. Take me beneath the glamorous light that keeps us safe. I want to feel you inside me, CJ. Chase away the dark and fill me with the light I know you possess.”

  His fingers curled over her breast, sliding down the blanket, and he gave her one last questioning look—which she answered with a nod—and then bent to kiss the swell beneath his hand. She tilted back a shoulder, lifting her breast, and stretched a leg out across his lap. With a shift of her hip, she slid onto his lap.

  Drawing a finger down his chest, she traced the triple scythes curved under his right nipple. They formed a sort of tribal claw mark. “Isn’t this a werewolf symbol?”

  “It is, but it’s inked with silver.”

  “You don’t like werewolves? I find them quite gentle.” She kissed the silvery scythe below his chest and then brushed her lips over the tiny nipple.

  CJ inhaled and spread his hands over her breasts, his fingers playing softly over her hard nipples. Compelled toward him, she arched her back, giving him all of her to hold.

  “And this one?” She glided her fingertips down his rigid abs to the three parallel lines slashed through with shorter horizontal lines.

  “A grounding spell. My skin is marred with ink while yours is unstained. Pure.” He leaned forward and claimed her nipple between his lips, softly, then dashed his tongue around it.

  Vika tilted back her head, her wet hair a thick mass down her spine. Reaching down, she stroked the hardness straining against his jeans. He hadn’t buttoned but had zipped, and with a finger she teased the tuft of hair exposed in the V-shaped opening.

  CJ’s forehead nudged her at the base of her neck and he hissed. “Grandmother is watching.”

  “Should I take it off?”

  “No, never. It’s a part of you. I’ll be careful.”

  “Your wards against other magics are off?”

  “Took care of that when I tossed your clothes in the dryer. I am ever open to you, Vika. Oh, yeah, right there.”

  Massaging his erection through the fabric, she wanted to get to it, to release him so she could feel him inside her. But she took her time, enjoying every lick, every kiss to her breast, every squeeze of his hands, and the subtle glisten of magic humming between the two of them.

  It was the dark hand covered in tattoos that scattered a shimmer over her skin as it glided her flesh. She wondered if he was aware of it, and then figured he must be. On the other hand, if he’d been more focused on magic than women...

  “It’s like fire,” she gasped as his fingers glided down her mons and teased at her folds. “Any of those tattoos designed for the sensual arts?”

  “Ah?” He tapped her thigh with his fingers, which electrified the intensity of his touch. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Seriously? CJ, when our skin touches it hums with our combined magic. But this hand covered in spellwork? It’s the same touch, but quadrupled in intensity.”

  “I had no idea. How about this?”

  He glided between her legs and inside her, and it was as if an instrument heated and hardened and designed to get her off. Two fingers, not a sex toy. Vika worked her hips and glided up and down upon him, wanting to own every sensation, to steal his magic for her own pleasure. “Oh, yes, touch me like that.”

  “You’re so hot,” he murmured against her breast, his tongue slipping across her nipple. “I can feel our combined magic, too. Makes every part of me burn. Show me how you like it, Vika.”

  “I’d like it with your pants off and you inside me. Quickly, I want to come with you deep inside me.”

  He shuffled out of his pants and Vika straddled him. His face was a riot of color from the overhead crystals, his eyes closed as he glided inside her, his hands gripping her hips firmly. Seared by his heat, Vika slapped her hands to the back of the couch, feeling him deep within her, so thick, filling her, radiating within as their magics joined forces and the hum of their connection reached a heady vibration.

  He had but to shift his hips and thrust inside her once, twice, then the climax overwhelmed and he bucked her up and down upon his body as the dark witch swore to Hecate and then blessed her in the same breath.

  “Pax, sax, sarax,” she whispered. An Elizabethan chant to prolong orgasm.

  CJ thrust back his head, growling in delicious pleasure as she sensed the orgasm renewed, surrounding him in its stunning grip. She surrendered and got wrapped in the threads of giddiness. They seemed to float, wrapped together, soaring over the floor, entwined in rapture.

  Skin against skin, Vika breathed in CJ’s being, his breaths, his rapid heartbeats. She felt him, knew him—and then she felt the infestation. It roiled in wicked delight, snatching at her with claws that couldn’t reach yet were so close.

  Pulling away from him, she leaned over his blissful smile. Breathing heavily, she shook her head. What a way to come down. Chased by demons. He couldn’t be aware of what she had felt. She didn’t want him to know.

  “Amazing,” he murmured, and blew
her a kiss.

  Vika nodded and had to struggle with her sudden fear to lean forward and rest her head against his shoulder. They were safe under the light. She hoped.

  Chapter 11

  CJ woke, not because it was morning and the light nudged him awake—his circadian rhythm had given up the ghost months earlier—but because his body generally woke after a few hours’ rest. The daylight paled in comparison with the cacophony of prismatic light, which always made him blink in disgust. He’d never get accustomed to the unnatural light.

  His lifeline. Would he need it always?

  They’d moved to the bed from the couch to continue their lovemaking. Turning onto his side, he looked over the sinuous, long lines of Vika’s body and marveled she could sleep under the light. Uncovered, lying on her back, from his side view her curves and lines were as if a sculpture done in porcelain. Each glide and rise of bone so subtle. At her small breasts the nipples were soft and like a tuft of crushed roses. Garnet hair spilled over the white sheets and his arm, and he stroked a few strands against his mouth, wondering if silk could ever feel so rich. The brilliant strands running over the black spellwork on his hand seemed to want to hide the darkness.

  That she had forgiven his transgression against her with grace and heated desire spoke volumes for her character. She had seen beyond the demon and into him. He—Certainly Jones—was in there somewhere. He just needed to rise above, without having to build a chandelier umbrella to carry about after sunset.

  It wasn’t fair to her. She shouldn’t have to endure his demons merely for a part of him. He might ever be able to give her only a part. Never the whole Certainly Jones. Not so long as Pain and War and others resided within.

  Sighing, he turned to his other side, putting his back to her. Pulled in two directions, his heart wanted to wrap a big bow about Viktorie St. Charles and embroider his name on the ribbon. He would braid the ribbon into a spell and knot it on both ends so it would bind them forever. Yet his tormented soul wanted to hurt her, to see how far he could push the red witch and learn how much that would please him.