Carnal Magic

by Christine McKay

  “What is so amusing?” he asked.

  She heard irritation and a heap of indignation. She raised a hand, wiping tears from her eyes. “Sorry. Something struck me as funny.”

  “Chocolate incites laughter?”

  “The Angel of Death having a fondue pot is hilarious.”

  He grinned. “There are many varied uses for kitchen implements.” He sobered. “Lie back. I hunger.”

  She obliged, grumbling, “Perhaps I have hungers, too.”

  He raised his brows. “It is my fondue pot.”

  “Lovers share— Hey! That’s not fair.” While she spoke, he’d drizzled chocolate across her stomach.

  She sucked in a breath as he licked her stomach clean, tickling her as his stubbled cheek grazed her skin. More chocolate coated her, a mudslide sweeping through the valley of her breasts.

  She accepted another strawberry, biting away at it until she could pull his fingers into her mouth and wipe the chocolate off his skin with her tongue. His head dropped to her breasts. Lips latched onto her nipple. Startled, she yelped.

  Hand pressed to her chest, he held her down. He drew more of her breast into his mouth, sucking hard at the skin, coaxing the nipple to harden. Teeth and lips slid lower, nipping the underside of her breast. His hands, one chocolate-covered from holding her down, the other relatively clean, skimmed down her sides.

  He raised his head. Chocolate flecked his lips.

  “Azrael?”

  Covering her lips, he kissed her. Sweetness mingled with heat. There was no gentleness in the gesture. Demand. Need. Possession. He took the air from her lungs and gave her his, instead.

  Hands slid to her ass, cupping her cheeks and arching her spine. His shaft rubbed against her leg, then her parted thighs. Her eyes popped open. How the hell had he gotten nude so quickly? His storm-ridden eyes watched her through their prison of dark lashes.

  Gazes locked, he entered her, a violent thrust of skin and bone that jarred her to her core.

  She gasped. Muscles clenched. A spasm danced through her, a warning of what was to come.

  He spun them in a swift roll of motion so she now straddled him. His hands closed over her breasts. Dipping her head, she licked chocolate off one of his fingertips. He moved inside her, touching and teasing her core, tinder to flame. Her arms twined through his, fingers splayed on his chest. Her vagina feasted, clenching around his hard length.

  His eyes closed. Hands slipped to her hips. Leaning over his body, she brushed her nipple across his parted lips. He latched on, tongue laving her nipple. She cradled his head to her breast as she rocked against him.

  The explosion of heat and tremors, pleas and protests, shook them both at the same time. Her body tightened, kissing his shaft as he stroked her secret lips. He buried his face in her breasts, murmuring foreign words that sounded like prayers. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  They stayed that way for a long time, a messy chocolate embrace, legs and arms twined, he inside her. Her skin drank in his warmth, his touch. It’d been so long since she’d let another be this close. The feel of his hair brushing her breasts, the weight of a solid male body parts draped over hers, brought tears to her eyes. Finally she lifted her head off of his chest. “We should get cleaned up.”

  He opened one eye. “What do you mean? That was only the hors d’oeuvres.”

  She lay alone in bed, unable to sleep. Dawn crept to her windowpane, balanced like a ballerina on silken-toed slippers. Despite his nature, despite Tom, despite all she worked for, she wanted Azrael. She’d denied herself for too long and by doing so, denied her femininity, that part of her that made her feel. She’d been moving through life on autopilot the past couple of years. And that wasn’t fair. Not to herself. Not to those who loved her…including Tom.

  Had she been too infatuated, too in love with the notion of being in love, to notice that something had been missing? Was there more she’d missed out on?

  Was it traitorous to think such thoughts?

  She fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Elaine woke up to the sound of someone pounding on her door. Her first thought was she had a perfectly working doorbell. There should be laws against beating on the door at—she pulled the pillow off her head and glanced at the clock—oops, 1:00 p.m.

  The pounding ceased. Raised voices took its place, male and female. Slipping on her bathrobe, she raked her hair back into a messy ponytail and headed for the door.

  She opened it with so much force it struck the wall and trembled in its frame. “What is going on?”

  Two people stared at her in openmouthed shock. One was Victoria Ramlin, the other, judging by his uniform, a police officer.

  “Elaine, are you all right?” Victoria took her hand, tears glinting in her eyes.

  Elaine took half a step back, startled. There was a practiced glimmer in Victoria’s gaze; she’d given a theater-worthy performance. Elaine kept the urge to clap in check. Extricating her hand from Victoria’s grip, she turned to the officer. “Is something wrong?”

  “Are you Elaine Feller?” he asked.

  She nodded. God, the man smelled like freshly ground coffee. She’d kill for a cup about now. He looked middle-aged, a hint of gray in his mustache and over his ears. His middle showed the start of a paunch, though he managed to control it with belt and waistband.

  He eyed her mussed hair and bathrobe. “Do you work nights?”

  She tightened the belt on her robe. “What’s this about?”

  His eyes narrowed. “There was a disturbance at St. Beatrice’s Cemetery last night. Some neighborhood cats were killed and a grave vandalized. Because of the particular grave, Ms. Ramlin was concerned you might be a victim.” He looked as if he thought otherwise.

  “Tom Vaughn’s grave.” Victoria dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue, careful to not smear her makeup. “I’m so sorry, Elaine.”

  Elaine glanced from one to the other. “Why would you think I was in trouble?”

  “Because he was your fiancé,” Victoria blurted out.

  “Over two years ago!”

  Victoria’s eyes widened. Her delicate brown-black lashes fluttered. She opened her mouth and closed it. “Oh.” The word slid out on a breath of air.

  If Victoria’s reaction was contrived, she really did belong on the stage. Elaine was a bit surprised by the vehemence in her own outburst.

  The officer pulled out a notepad and pen. “Miss Feller, where were you last evening?”

  “I had a date, Officer…”

  “McDougal.” He didn’t bother to glance up from his notepad. “And your date’s name?”

  “I’d really rather talk to him first. It was only our second date.”

  Both Officer McDougal and Victoria stared at her bathrobe, then found other things to look at. McDougal focused on his notepad. Victoria plucked a few dead mums from nearby window box.

  “Oh, pul-leeze, people sleep with each other on second dates all the time.”

  Officer McDougal cleared his throat. “Could you come down to the station later on and sign a statement? Have a chat with your boyfriend beforehand. We’d like his name and statement, too. Just protocol, Miss Feller. You’re not in any trouble. People have a tendency to get all worked up over animal mutilations, and some of these were pets.”

  “Sure.” She waved her hand. She didn’t want to hear any more details.

  He nodded and headed for his squad car, parked at the curb.

  “Would you have any tea to settle my nerves?” Victoria asked when Officer McDougal had gone.

  “No.” Elaine crossed her arms. “What’s this about?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I was worried about you. You haven’t been the same since Samhain. Sleeping late, not dropping by the store.” Apparently Elaine had stopped by the store more often than she thought.

  “I was there yesterday.”

  “And your note. Asking about the Angel of Death. The supplies you bought
over the last couple months. I’m concerned for your well-being.”

  “Can the act.”

  Victoria straightened.

  “You set my spell up to fail. You took advantage of my naïveté. You’re lucky it’s not my blood spattered all over Tom’s gravestone.”

  Victoria’s lips pressed so tight they lost their color. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tom is dead. No amount of conjuring or sacrifices will bring him back. I was foolish to think so.”

  “Then who are you sleeping with?” Victoria reached for Elaine’s neck. “He’s marked you.”

  She put a hand over her throat, feeling the heat of the bruise, and backed into her house. “Stay away from me.”

  “What did you summon? Do you serve the Dark Lord now?”

  “Goodbye, Victoria.” She started to close the door.

  Victoria put her hand in the doorjamb. “Answer me!”

  “The door’s old, but it’ll still break your fingers when I slam it.”

  Victoria quickly withdrew her hand. “This is not over,” she said through the door. “I will have what’s mine. You will give it to me.”

  Elaine slid the security latch in place. “Over my dead body.”

  “You’re right. I’m a schmuck. Victoria set me up.” It was the first thing Elaine said when Azrael appeared in her apartment that evening.

  “Of course she did,” Azrael said reasonably.

  Elaine blinked. “Well, I’m glad we got that settled. Thanks for sharing. You wouldn’t, by chance, know why she’d do something like that?”

  “Blood and hopelessness attracts the attention of minor demons.”

  Victoria was too chicken-shit to risk her own soul so she chose to compromise Elaine’s, instead? Her eyes widened. “But you came.” Thank God he came. She wouldn’t give his ego any more of a boost by mentioning that little blessing, but she didn’t want to dwell on what might have happened if he hadn’t.

  “My presence chased off the pests.”

  She cleared her throat. She didn’t think she’d ever be brave or powerful enough to place demons at the same level as vermin. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “Why did you come?”

  His lips curved, but there wasn’t any humor in his gaze. “You’re a poor grave tender. You closed the circle around a patch of nightshade.”

  She opened her mouth, about to retort, then closed it. “Ah. Again, thank you.”

  He gave her an elegant bow, one that reminded her of French courts and men in smartly fitting jackets. God help her, it made her heart flutter.

  “So what are we doing tonight?”

  His eyes twinkled. “You do not concede defeat?”

  “No!”

  “Good.” He hesitated, glancing around her apartment. When she’d awakened this afternoon, it was returned to normalcy, all trace of chocolate spatters, hand and ass prints vanished. “I thought I’d take you to my home.”

  “You have a home?”

  “I do not spend every waking moment raping civilization of its brilliant minds, if that’s what you think.”

  “I’m trying not to think about your occupation at all.”

  “Good.” Taking her hand, he tucked it through his arm. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He reached for her pantry door.

  “That’s not the way—”

  The door opened. They were bathed in a bright white light. There really was a light and a tunnel.

  “Oh, good Lord,” she breathed. Her arm still his prisoner, he pulled her in after him.

  They were standing in what looked like a castle room. The walls were built of gray stone blocks. A set of arched windows shuttered against who-knew-what stood opposite her. Flames from an ornate—and completely out of place—white marble fireplace winked merrily at her, warming the space. There was a bed, a four-poster monstrosity made of dark wood, which took up the entire length of one wall. A writing desk sat in another corner. Two chairs, mini-versions of thrones really, were in front of the fireplace, a small table between them. An exotic silver fur the size of a grizzly bear was splayed on the hearth.

  He dropped her hand. She wandered around the room, touching the pieces of furniture. Everything seemed substantial.

  She turned to him. “Where are we? I mean, where as in Heaven, Hell or someplace in between?”

  “Someplace in between,” he confirmed.

  “Gee, thanks for the solid coordinates.” She pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “Figures. You get better reception here than at my condo.”

  Tucking her phone away, she glanced up. Tonight, if she managed to convince both herself and him that what she felt paled to what Tom had made her feel, would be their last night. She was going to miss him. His Old World charm married with the modern wasn’t something she’d seen before in a man. Hell, who was she kidding? His sexual prowess wasn’t something to be sneezed at, either.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly. His eyes were rough-seas gray again.

  “Tonight’s our last night.”

  “Ah. Soon you’ll be free of me and with your beloved Tom.”

  Stepping toward him, she took his hands. “This hasn’t been as big a burden as I thought it’d be.”

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

  “Very much.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him. His hands clenched in hers.

  “Elaine—”

  “Shh.” She put a finger over his lips. Tugging his hand, she drew him toward the fireplace. “Sit.”

  He reluctantly sat in one of the thrones. The flickering flames from the fireplace cast shadows on his face, the hard profile at odds with his expressive eyes. She thread her legs through the arms of the chair and sat on his lap, facing him. Her fingertips traced his jaw, from the dip in his chin to the base of his ear. Sliding her hand into his hair, she twirled a tuft between her thumb and forefinger. The strands were baby-fine. Thousands formed that thick mass of black silk she enjoyed immersing her hands in.

  Her other hand cupped his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm.

  “You look at me and don’t see a monster,” he whispered, lips sliding to her wrist.

  Cradling his head to her chest, she kissed the top of his head. “No.” She saw a man whose loneliness echoed her own.

  His arms circled her waist.

  She drew back, teardrops decorating the tips of her lashes. “I will miss you.” She kissed him quickly before he could reply. Her lashes whispered across his skin, sharing her tears.

  She quickly undid the buttons on his shirt. She rubbed her face on his chest, feeling the fine hairs tickle her cheeks and lips. Scooting as far out as she dared, she pressed a row of kisses down his breastbone. Her hands trembled at his waistband. The funnel of hairs dipped beneath the denim, arrowing to his cock. She unbuckled his belt and drew down his zipper.

  “This is easier.” Snapping his fingers, his pants and shirt vanished.

  In another time, another life, another screwup, she’d have fallen for him. Hard. Slipping off the chair, she dropped to her knees.

  His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging it free of its loose knot. “Don’t do this if you don’t—”

  She leaned up and kissed him. She couldn’t stand the sound of his voice just now. It felt as if her heart were splintering. How much loss could one person endure?

  “I want to.” She needed to taste him.

  She nosed his curls, an artistry of dark whorls against smooth skin. The sea of skin split, flat sculpted abdomen flowing into powerful thighs. Between muscle, bone, curl and sinew, his cock bobbed. Stroking his inner thighs with both hands, she let her wrists and forearms brush against the velvety skin of his shaft. Each casual touch made him jolt.

  A pearl of fluid glistened on its head.

  Her tongue claimed it. Azrael groaned. And she thought she had it bad? How long had it been since he’d been caressed this way?

  She licked up one side of
his shaft and down the other. His hands clawed the arms of the chair.

  “Careful, you’ll scar the leather.” She took the entire length of his cock into her mouth..

  “Christus!” He tried to bolt upright, but she’d anticipated that. Her hand pressed against his abdomen, keeping him seated. The delicious ripple of trapped muscle beneath flesh made her shiver.

  She redoubled her efforts.

  “Elaine,” he groaned. His hands fisted in her hair. He tipped her head back, forcing her to stop. “You’ll kill me.”

  She paused long enough to bat her eyelashes at him. “It’d give me one helluva reputation.” Her hand picked up where her tongue left off, stroking his length. Cupping his sac with the other hand, she gently teased his balls, like a magician’s fingers playing with a coin.

  “If you insist on continuing, I cannot guarantee my actions.” The words grated out.

  She snickered. Dropping her head to his shaft, she teased its tip with tongue and teeth while her hands continued their ministrations. She knew when she’d crossed the threshold, the point of no return. His body stiffened, muscles turned to steel, skin to molten metal. She heard the chair’s arm crack under his grip. Sweetness transformed into salt. She pulled him out of her mouth, letting her hands guide him the last millimeter over the edge.

  She wanted to see his face, to know that what she did could drive a man crazy. His eyes flicked from gray to black in one blink. A groan turned to a cry as she continued to stroke skin over his shaft’s head, blurring the line between pleasure and exquisite pain.

  Taking pity on him, her hands let his cock lie and, instead, skated up his sides, tickling his rib cage. His breath caught, a mix of gasp and giggle.

  “Are you ticklish?” She planted a kiss on his jaw and continued the tickling.

  “Have you no fear? I am the Angel of Death!” It didn’t sound nearly as impressive when his breath hitched on a laugh.

  She ignored the protest. “How sensitive are your feet?”

  He seized her beneath her arms before she could sink lower. His eyes gleamed silver in the firelight. “How ticklish are you?”

  Yelping, she tried to escape, but he was quicker and stronger. They tumbled onto the hearth, the fur cushioning their fall.