The Wicked

by Cheyenne McCray

  His comrades would never let him live it down if they knew a Faerie had crossed the veil to San Francisco with him—and he had allowed her to stay.

  “Can we go now?” She bounced up and down in the air so fast it almost made Keir dizzy.

  He shook his head with exasperation and dug into his haversack. He pulled out a long, black coat that he wore to hide his weapons when out among the people of this city. “In my pocket,” he said after he shrugged into the coat. “Stay out of sight until we are in the air.”

  Galia laughed in obvious delight and in a flash was in his right pocket. Her little hands clung to the edge of the material as she peeked out.

  “Down,” he ordered and she immediately disappeared from sight.

  Keir stalked out of the now spotless electrical room and shut the door behind him. His sword banged against his leg as he headed up to the rooftop.

  When he reached the small garden area, cool air brushed his face along with the scent of the ocean mingling with the city’s countless smells.

  Keir’s black wings magically pushed through the coat, unfurled, and spread wide. He flapped his large wings and took to the air with the ease of his people and vanished from human sight.

  “Now?” came Galia’s muffled voice from his pocket.

  “Aye,” Keir said as he soared over the city.

  He glanced down and saw the Faerie peek her head out of his pocket as he flew from the Haight-Ashbury district toward the bay.

  “In all of Otherworld, I have never seen such incredible sights as these,” she said with wonder in her voice. Her eyes were wide and filled with delight and she wore a broad smile. “May I fly with you?”

  Keir found the corner of his mouth twitching and he had the absurd desire to laugh. He forced the feelings back. “Can you keep up?”

  In response, Galia flew out of his pocket and zipped along beside him, pink Faerie dust in her wake. “This is amazing,” she said in a breathless voice.

  Keir turned his attention to his task. “We must attempt to scent out the Fomorii. They have a rotten fish stench when in their natural form.”

  He glanced at the Faerie and saw her wrinkle her nose.

  He almost smiled again then gave a low growl. What was the matter with him? First, he was obsessing over a witch who had literally driven him to his knees, and now he was almost enjoying Galia’s company?

  Choosing to ignore her, he swept low over the city, focused on scenting out the demons. Unless the Fomorii had all taken over human host bodies, he and his comrades should be able to track them down. Unfortunately, their human host bodies blocked their odor.

  Keir frowned and swooped lower, weaving his way around buildings and above vehicles, and avoiding the wiring that crisscrossed Market Street. When he reached the bay, he drank in the scent of brine and felt more moisture against his face from the fog rolling in.

  The entire time Keir searched for the demons, Galia chattered and giggled so much that he was tempted to shove her back into his pocket and keep her there.

  6

  This had better work.

  If not, she was going to kill Mackenzie.

  Rhiannon tugged down her very short skirt and prayed she wouldn’t wobble in her obscenely high heels when she was summoned.

  She was used to wearing comfortable and colorful clothing, not a pastel pink button-up blouse that was too snug and gaped to allow a view of her ample cleavage. Not to mention a matching tight miniskirt that molded to her curves and damn near showed her underwear when she sat down. She liked short, but give me a freaking break.

  Rhiannon pressed her knees closely together and raised her chin as she sat in the waiting room to be called in for the interview.

  To make sure she wasn’t recognized, Rhiannon’s hair had been spelled black, her scars hidden by a thick coat of makeup that was driving her crazy. She never wore makeup and it felt like her skin was suffocating.

  Witches healed faster than normal humans, but in this case, the scars wouldn’t go away. The iron on the claws of the demon queen and the scars they had left on Rhiannon’s cheek had been proof she had Elvin or Fae blood in her. Iron could be deadly to both races.

  Cassia said Rhiannon was Elvin, and Cassia knew a lot more about such things than anyone had ever realized or expected in the past. Rhiannon still couldn’t get used to the idea that she was part Elvin.

  She let out a sigh and thought about her birth parents. Which parent had been Elvin? Which one had been a D’Anu witch?

  It didn’t matter how pissed Rhiannon was at her parents for abandoning her, a part of her wanted to know more.

  Once again, like so many times before, a flash of a woman’s scream and the vague outline of a face came to Rhiannon. Then a sense of stumbling away from a great ball of fire.

  Why did she have this vision every time she thought about her birth parents?

  Rhiannon shook her head and forced away thoughts of her parentage and looked at her fingers. Get your mind back on the job, Rhiannon. You’re here to tag a demon, not go down memory lane.

  She had left all of her jewelry back at the apartment, except for an obsidian and gold ring she wore for protection and to deflect negativity. It didn’t have a pentagram on it. She didn’t want to provide any hints of who she really was, but she felt naked without the rest of her jewelry.

  Two days had passed since the meeting in the common room and Rhiannon getting this job interview had been the witches’ first break.

  It was still early morning, so even when she tagged the bastard, they wouldn’t be able to track him until the end of his business day. Hopefully he didn’t have an event planned for the evening and would go straight to Ceithlenn’s lair.

  While she waited, Rhiannon looked up from her hands and glanced around the lobby. It was certainly impressive—all marble, mahogany, and glass, with porcelain sculptures of birds in flight. Hard to believe that the congressman, with all this wealth and power, no longer existed.

  Only no one knew that yet.

  This Fomorii they had tracked down through Sydney’s talent. She was able to divine things by allowing melted wax to drip into a pewter bowl of consecrated water and then could “see” whatever it was she was attempting to visualize.

  She always chose wax of different colors and scents appropriate to the situation.

  The ever-so-friendly (not) receptionist came through the heavy wood door of Congressman Dentworth’s office and gave Rhiannon a false smile. With her short brown hair and fresh-faced appearance, the woman looked like a soccer mom but had the manners of a real bitch.

  The receptionist examined her long, manicured nails. “You’re up, cookie.”

  Rhiannon forced a fake smile of her own. Just a little flick of her fingers and she could seriously hose the secretary’s computer.

  Instead, Rhiannon rose from her seat in the waiting room as gracefully as she could and tugged down the skirt with one hand. She wobbled in the unfamiliar spike heels as they clicked across the marble floor. She was positive high heels had originally been designed by a male as a torture device for females.

  Cookie Woman held the door open for Rhiannon, before closing it behind her. Rhiannon entered a beautifully appointed office, also of mahogany, marble, and glass, but with thick forest green carpeting. Through a large window, she could see an impressive view of San Francisco’s skyline.

  Rhiannon clutched the stupid little pink purse in her left fist as she approached the blond man who crossed the office, his right hand extended. He had a friendly, easygoing expression. She’d always considered him to be a good congressman. It really sucked that he’d been killed and his body now hosted a power-hungry, butt-ugly demon.

  “Welcome, Ms. Smith.” The supposed Congressman Dentworth clasped her hand.

  The moment Rhiannon touched his hand, she felt a rush of bile climb her throat. When he released her, she fought back the urge to turn him into a pile of dirt right there in the office. One good-sized fireball and he’d be toast.


  No killing. No killing. It wouldn’t be as fun as I think it would be.

  No, she would never cross that line.

  But the D’Danann would.

  It was all she could do to smile again and take the seat in front of the desk while the demon moved into the plush leather office chair on the opposite side. It was obvious the demon had taken over this host body efficiently. From what the witches had gathered from their divination, some of the Fomorii apparently had difficulty assimilating into the world their particular host had occupied, but this one was smooth.

  Fomorii demons normally smelled like rotten fish, but whenever they were in a host body, they simply smelled like the human who had formerly inhabited the body.

  “You are here for...” He riffled through papers on his desktop as he casually glanced at her cleavage. “...the administrative assistant position.”

  “Yes.” Rhiannon struggled to keep her voice pleasant.

  While the congressman began to grill her on her qualifications, Rhiannon eased the clasp of the purse open and withdrew a small, clear, sticky patch, keeping it stuck to the end of one finger. She did her best to flub the interview so he’d cut it short, but the bastard’s eyes kept landing on her breasts. Apparently this demon had a thing for women with big boobs.

  When he finally rose to walk her out of the office, Rhiannon stood and let her purse tumble off her lap and onto the floor. It landed with a thunk on the carpet and the contents scattered everywhere.

  A tube of lipstick—which she never wore—rolled under the desk. A wallet and coins scattered everywhere, along with other things Mackenzie had shoved into it to give Rhiannon enough time to do what she needed to do.

  Great. The witch had stuck a condom package and a tampon in the purse as well.

  Predictably the man squatted down to help her pick up the items, and she saw the quirk of his mouth when he spotted the condom. Rhiannon snatched it up and stuffed it back into the purse. Oh, great. Just how low could things go before this mission was complete?

  As she leaned down to grab the tube of lipstick from beneath the desk, he shocked her speechless when he “accidentally” brushed one of his hands against her nipple.

  Well, all the better. Rhiannon choked back her anger, leaned into him, and grasped his arm as if to steady herself. She planted the patch on the sleeve of his suit jacket with one press of her finger.

  Rhiannon gave him a seductive smile. “So sorry,” she said, easing to her feet with the now refilled and tightly closed purse. She nearly fell against him when she wobbled in the freaking stilettos.

  He rose up to meet her and was standing close, waaaaaay too close. “The job is yours, Ms. Smith. When can you start?”

  Rhiannon took a couple of steps back. She hadn’t expected that. “I—I’ll need a few days.”

  He’ll be dead within one.

  “Monday, then.” He took her hand, held it between both of his, and she shuddered.

  Her skin crawled and she pictured him as one of the many demons who had kept her in captivity until Silver, Hawk, and Jake had saved her.

  She yanked her hand back and he gave her an odd look.

  Rhiannon regained her composure and tried to appear pleased. “Sure. Monday. Thanks.”

  Rhiannon moved across the office to the door on her unsteady heels, but the demon beat her to it and held it open. She managed a half grimace, half smile as she hurried past him, calling out another “Thanks” over her shoulder. Wouldn’t do to have the demon suspect her.

  As she passed through the reception area, Cookie Woman gave a condescending look over her computer monitor.

  Rhiannon couldn’t resist a small flick of her fingers.

  The last thing she heard as she walked out the lobby’s glass doors was the receptionist’s cry of dismay as her computer screen fizzled.

  It was good to be a witch.

  “What in the Gods’ names?” Keir nearly roared as he tried to stare Mackenzie down, his hand gripping his sheathed dagger. “You allowed her to go to the demon? Alone?”

  Blood pounded in his veins at the thought of Rhiannon so close to one of the Fomorii.

  The petite blonde’s blue eyes appeared thoughtful as she studied him. Mackenzie was sitting in the apartment building’s common room, where she’d been thumbing through what he had learned was a New Age magazine.

  “You’ve really got to get over yourself.” Mackenzie shifted her gaze back to the magazine and flipped another page. “Goddess knows you’ve got the hots for her, but she sure doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.”

  Keir gave another low growl.

  Rhiannon sailed into the room and Keir’s scowl deepened. Her hair was black instead of the usual dark shade of red and she had some kind of paint on her face, hiding her beautiful freckles.

  But what she was wearing—a form-fitting skirt and a blouse that nearly bared her breasts—made him ache and his blood boil. The idea of any other man seeing her body like this infuriated him.

  “Hey, Rhi.” Mackenzie dropped the magazine and rose to her feet. “How’d it go?”

  Rhiannon barely spared Keir a glance but gave Mackenzie a smug look as she circled her hand above her hair. Her magic changed the deep black shade to auburn again. She made the same circular motion in front of her face, causing the face paint to vanish.

  “Tagged the bastard,” Rhiannon said with a grin as she tossed her bag onto the couch. “Definitely Fomorii.”

  “Hot damn.” Mackenzie raised her hand and the two witches gave a “high five” to one another. Mackenzie jerked her head toward the stairs. “I’ll tell Jake. A group can track the demon tonight.” She turned and left, her shoes making sharp taps as she trotted up the steps.

  “I do have a score to settle with you, Mackenzie,” Rhiannon yelled after her, but the other witch had already disappeared upstairs.

  “What in the gods’ names did you think you were doing?” Keir bellowed at Rhiannon, jerking her attention to him. “Going to a Fomorii. Alone.”

  Rhiannon marched up to him and pointed her finger at his face, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparking green fire. “I don’t answer to you, Keir. You’d better get that straight and now.”

  “Fool of a woman.” He pushed her hand down so it was no longer in his face. “You never should have gone alone.”

  “Oh, sure.” She looked pointedly at his clothing, his sword and dagger. “Like I’m supposed to take someone who looks like a reject from a Renaissance fair.”

  Keir had had enough. He took her by the wrist. “You will never go near a Fomorii alone again.”

  “Bite me.” She tried to turn away from him, but he kept his grip firm. “You’d better let me go,” she said, her jaw tight with anger. “Or I’ll spellfire your cock again.”

  With a quick movement, he caught her other wrist and pinned them both behind her back so she couldn’t use her magic if she tried.

  He pressed his body tight to hers and outrage flashed across her beautiful face. Her light citrus scent nearly sent his head to reeling.

  “Whoever hurt you should be gutted,” he said in a rough voice and her eyes widened in surprise. “Tell me his name and I will do it myself,” he added before he captured her mouth with his.

  Rhiannon gasped as Keir kissed her, and lightning zinged from her belly to her core. The fact that he had recognized her pain from past relationships made her head spin nearly as much as his kiss did.

  He thrust his tongue through her parted lips and took her in a thoroughly possessive kiss. Every inch of his hardness pressed against her through his leather tunic and pants, from his heavily muscled chest and abs to the ridge between his thighs.

  She struggled against his hold, tried to tear her mouth from his, but he wouldn’t relinquish control.

  And suddenly she didn’t want him to.

  Before she even realized it, she was kissing him with the same intensity. Hard. Rough. She cried out her passion when he nipped her bottom lip. He smel
led of leather and male, of something wild and untamed as he was. Something that made her crazy for him.

  This is nuts, Rhiannon!

  But she couldn’t stop.

  It was crazy—all wrong. He was a big, hulking Neanderthal.

  But, goddess, could he kiss.

  The next thing she knew he had her back to a wall, his body snug against hers. He kept her wrists pinned behind her back with one of his hands, his other was free. Her entire body trembled as he stroked her curves with his fingertips.

  She squirmed yet arched into his touch at the same time. It was only then that he relinquished his hold on her mouth, but he didn’t release her wrists. All she could do was moan. She struggled, yet that only made her even more filled with lust.

  “You are wet for me, little one,” he said in a low rumble, his rich Irish accent sending more thrills through her body. “I could take you against this wall and you would scream my name.”

  Between panting breaths she said, “Arrogant bastard.”

  His sinfully dark eyes held hers captive. “You want me.”

  She could picture his naked muscled body, his hips between her thighs. His powerful chest would chafe her nipples and his long hair would tickle her cheeks as he captured her mouth with his.

  This is insane!

  But her body betrayed her. Right now she wanted nothing more than to wrap her thighs around his hips and take him deep inside her right up against this wall.

  The fantasy only made her want him more.

  From some distant part of her mind she heard voices and the real world came crashing down.

  Keir jerked his head up.

  “Oh, crap.” Rhiannon had totally lost track of time and place. Her already hot body flooded with more heat.

  “Maybe we should leave,” came Sydney’s amused voice. “I think Keir and Rhiannon are a little busy.”

  Alyssa giggled. “Looks like Hannah won the bet.”

  Laughter followed the sound of shoes hurrying up the stairs as the pair left the room.