by Bast, Anya
“Relax, Sarafina. Take a deep breath.”
She gulped in air and let it out slowly.
“There you go. Good. Now, do it again.”
Sarafina fought for another lungful and let it out slowly, again and again until the tenseness in her body eased. A sob escaped her, but she didn’t cry. Sarafina was done crying for the woman who’d borne her. She hadn’t truly been her mother, Rosemary had.
Rosemary had been the one to help her cope in the days after this incident. She’d been the one to see Sarafina through her adolescent and teenage years. Rosemary had been the one to help Sarafina banish the cripplingly low self-esteem she’d had as a child from it.
Her foster mother had been the one who’d patiently taught her about life, the one who had loved her. Rosemary had been the one who’d helped her pick out her prom dress and who had held Sarafina while she’d cried from her first heart-break.
The woman who’d borne her wasn’t worth a thought, a memory, let alone a traumatic reoccurring dream.
If only Sarafina could convince her subconscious of that.
“Are you all right?” Theo murmured, stroking her hair.
She drew a trembling breath and took a moment to respond. “I’m better. I’m glad you’re here.” Her voice shook a little.
His arms tightened around her a degree, but he said nothing in response.
Sarafina clung to him in the dark. After the recent couple of awkward days they’d shared since their encounter in his bedroom, she supposed she should’ve felt ill at ease holding on to him so tightly right now. She clung to him like he could save her from the scary monsters in her brain—and maybe the ones who weren’t in her brain, too. The feel of Theo against her only comforted her. He was hard and warm and real, strong enough to dispel residual shadows clinging to her psyche.
“Thank you for waking me up.” Her whisper sounded loud in the dark.
Again, he said nothing in response, but she’d grown used to his less-than-loquacious nature. His silence was more of a comfort than anything else. Anyway, it was just him. Just Theo.
They lay twined together for close to an hour, just breathing. The intimacy warmed her chest, made something inside flutter and dance. His presence chased away the dark memories of her childhood, if only momentarily.
As relaxed fatigue settled heavily over her limbs, Theo rolled her to the side, beneath his big body. “Let me touch you.” The words came heavy and silken in the dark.
Whoa.
She stiffened a little, not because she didn’t want him to touch her but because she hadn’t been expecting him to ask.
“Yes.” The word came out in a soft rush. God, she was pathetic. But to feel something right now, something else, would be a gift.
His voice shook a little. “Let me taste you.”
She shivered, fine ripples of pleasure running through her body. Maybe she was dreaming this. If so, she didn’t want to wake up. “Theo, I’m yours.”
She spared a thought for Bai and what Stefan had told her. Where was that mysterious daaeman now and why, exactly, did he care whom she slept with? The various reasons why an Atrika would lay such a claim on her chilled her blood.
But then Theo slid his hands along her body and her blood warmed, her muscles made the slow slide to soft butter. All thoughts of Bai, all thoughts of anything but Theo’s hands on her, dissolved like so much sugar into water.
He worked her boxer shorts down and off. Then his big hands were planing her inner thighs and spreading her legs. His chest brushed hers as he worked his way down her body, her nipples tightening just from the memory of his tongue on them. Finally, his breath warmed the skin near her sensitive sex, making her hot and achy before he ever even touched her.
“Why are you doing this, Theo? You confuse me. You leave me alone and then show up in the middle of the night like this.”
“Stop talking and let me touch you. I just need a taste—”
“But why?” She moaned as his breath warmed her intimate flesh. “If I’m here and I’m willing, I don’t understand—”
“I don’t know.” The words came out agonized. “Sarafina, I don’t know why I can’t let myself.”
“Let me touch you, too.” She reached out to place her hand on his shoulder.
“No.” The word was uttered forcefully enough to make her draw her hand back. “If you do that, I’ll lose control. I just need to touch you a little.”
She groaned and let her head fall back. “What if I want you to touch me a lot?”
“Let me do this. Give me.”
Of course, he wasn’t really asking for permission. Theodosius Winters didn’t do that. So before she could respond, he just took what he wanted. In the half light of the room, she watched his head descend to her sex.
Her back arched as his tongue swept over her folds, his hands bracing her thighs wide apart. He held her down like he was afraid she’d try to escape. His tongue found her clit and she relaxed into the pillows as his lips played along it, teasing it to the point of orgasm. Sensation spread out in slow waves, enveloping her body and swamping her mind until she couldn’t think straight.
Soon she was helpless against him, moaning beneath him and trying not to beg for more. Theo made low sounds of pleasure that dovetailed with hers, like he loved the taste of her and couldn’t get enough.
His tongue slipped deep inside her sex, filling her up, then went back to the slow, teasing slide against her aroused clit. Again and again, he pushed her to the point of climax, drew back, then built her up again. He pressed his fingers inside her, finding a sensitive place deep within and stroking it over and over in a semblance of what his cock would do—driving her crazy with need.
Over and over he did this, playing her body like it was an instrument. The pleasure zinged through her veins and built to a fever pitch before exploding over her. She shuddered and cried out his name, trembling from the force of her climax. After it was over, she collapsed, sated.
He swiped his tongue over the small tattoo high on her hip, a sun and moon intertwined like a yin-yang symbol. “You said I’d never see it.”
“I was wrong,” she murmured.
Theo came up to lie beside her.
Sarafina turned to him. “Please don’t run away this time. Give me that, at least.”
Silence.
She reached out and touched his chest, but her hand on him only made him stiffen. “I want to touch you.”
“No. This has already gone too far.”
She withdrew her hand, even though her fingers itched to explore his chest, to trace the scars and tattoos. Her fingers curled a little at the thought of delving past the button fly of his jeans to discover the treasures below it.
“I don’t understand you,” she said finally. The words fell into the stillness of the room like rocks.
“No one does.” Pause. “Not even I do.”
“But I want to get to know you.”
He said nothing. The moonlight shone in from the cur tainless window, painting his face and throat in pale silver and bleaching the color from his hair. His eyes were open and his face troubled.
“Will you let me try?” she whispered.
“Let’s just get through tonight. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”
That was not an answer at all.
“Don’t leave tonight, Theo. Stay here with me.”
He didn’t reply, but he did close his eyes. Sarafina took that as acquiescence. Closing her eyes, her mind was a jumble of Theo. What was going on in his head? What drove him to behave this way, waking her up in the middle of the night to touch her like she was his fix? To tell her in a roundabout way that he needed her and at the same time hold her away from him with one hand?
Theo did need her. Sarafina could see that. She needed him, too. With every passing moment he became more intriguing to her, more a person she simply had to get to know.
She just wasn’t sure how to break down his barriers enough to make that happen.<
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THEO STAYED WITH HER ALL NIGHT. HE WRAPPED himself around her body and saw her through until the morning.
But when she woke, Theo was gone.
She could hear low voices in the living room of the suite, so she rolled off the side of the bed and discovered she was naked.
Oh, yeah. Right. Now she remembered.
The eroticism of her encounter with Theo in the early morning hours came rushing back to meet her. Her knees went weak as her body recalled the broad, hard press of his hand against her inner thigh and the slow stroke of his tongue along her sex.
She sat down on the side of the bed and drew a deep breath before recovering enough to make it into the bathroom for a shower.
When she emerged, she dressed from head to toe in Ralph Lauren—a filmy eggshell blouse, a gorgeous lavender skirt, and designer heels that brought the two colors together. The clothes had again been gifts from the Coven. It was important that Stefan thought she desired the “good” things in life.
As she curled her hair becomingly around her face, she decided that her mind was a little clearer from the hot pound of the water. She touched up her makeup and exited the bedroom.
Theo sat on the edge of the couch, wearing only a pair of faded blue jeans. His hair was still mussed from the night before, and he held an empty coffee cup in one hand.
His gaze rose to meet hers, his pupils dilating. The memory of what they’d done together the night before seemed to dwell in his dark gaze. It made her cheeks heat and her sex along with it. Sarafina had to look away quickly.
Darren sat in an armchair, wearing a pair of expensive-looking gray trousers and a light white sweater. Two unfamiliar women and a man sat nearby.
She nodded. “Darren.”
He gave her a head-to-toe sweep. The kind men gave women when they thought they were attractive. Sarafina’s face warmed again. “Sarafina.”
“I see you’re eager to get back to the Duskoff.” That was from Theo, and it came out friendly enough to the uneducated ear. Sarafina heard the aggressive undercurrent, however.
She managed to meet his gaze levelly. “I’m eager to do what needs to be done.”
Theo motioned with the empty coffee cup toward a cart in the corner of the room, near the small bar. “I had breakfast sent up.”
She nodded, unwilling to look at him.
“I’d like you to meet Gina, Lily, and Carl,” said Darren. He motioned to the Boston Coven witches, who all nodded and said their hellos. “I brought ten total. The rest are staying in various places around Manhattan. We’re here just in case.”
Yes. Just in case.
“Thanks for coming.”
Darren shrugged. “Give us a crack at Stefan Faucheux, even the possibility of one, and we’ll take it.” His voice and expression had gone hard.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Gina, a dark-haired earth witch with a heavy build.
Sarafina walked over to the spread, picked up a croissant, and nibbled on the end. “The plan is,” she said in between bites, “I go back to Stefan this morning and tell him I want in. I find out as much as I can about what they’re doing. Simple enough.” She turned around to seek a cup of coffee and realized her hands were trembling. Damn it. Her stomach had a cold, empty, fluttery feeling, too: stage fright.
“What about the daaeman who is so enamored of you?” asked Darren.
“The daaeman is Stefan’s pet.” She sipped a bit of the hot black blend, closed her eyes, and relaxed for a moment. Ahhh, that was better. “I do think he intends to feed me to the monster at some point, but he wants something from me first. Until Stefan gets that from me, he’ll control Bai as much as he’s able.”
“But you’re not safe from him.”
She turned to face Darren. “I’m not safe from Bai anywhere.”
Darren gave her another slow sweep of his gaze, respect now lighting his eyes. He was a water witch and typically water and fire repelled each other. All the same, Darren seemed quite attracted to her. But Sarafina was all filled up with Theo. She didn’t share Darren’s feelings; hers were already reserved.
Too bad she’d picked a lost cause.
Theo stood. “Come here. I have a charm to give you.” She set her mug and croissant down and walked over to him. He took a small silver necklace from his back pocket and dangled it in front of her. It winked prettily in the morning light.
“Do you understand the significance of the pentagram?” he asked her.
She reached out and fingered it. The metal was still warm from his body heat. “I know the Wiccan hold it dear, but I don’t know what it symbolizes. My birth mother raised me Baptist, so it’s a little, well . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to offend anyone.
Rosemary had been agnostic and Sarafina’s churchgoing had ended with her. Still, as a throwback to her childhood, the thought of Wicca made her sweat a little. The upright pentagram, as a symbol of that pagan religion, made her a bit nervous, she was ashamed to say. Early childhood experiences cut deep, it appeared, clung hard to the psyche. Her recurring nightmares were evidence enough of that.
She looked up at Theo who studied her solemnly. Theo probably was Wiccan. Figured. What he’d said earlier about the afterlife had made her think that. Everything else about him made her sweat, so why not his religion, too?
“It’s not a symbol of Satan,” said Theo. “That’s a myth fundamentalists believe, partially based on stuff cooked up by fifteenth-century Christian propagandists to vilify pagans. Wiccans don’t even believe in Satan.”
She nodded and licked her lips. “I know. I mean, I’ve read that.”
“Good.” His hand closed around hers. He placed his index finger to each point as he spoke. “Air, water, fire, earth. This last one is for spirit.”
She frowned, feeling the pendant. “It’s thick.”
Theo nodded. “It’s got water in it, water I charmed this morning so that Darren can use it to track you. Wherever you go, we’ll follow.”
She turned and gathered her hair on top of her head so Theo could put it on her. Was it her imagination or did his fingers linger at the nape of her neck longer than they should have? Did they brush the tiny hairs there a little? His touch gave her goose bumps, made her tremble.
Theo stepped away from her; she noticed the loss of his body heat. “It’s also calibrated to gauge your emotion. If you have a surge of fear or panic, we’ll know something is wrong and come in after you.”
“Okay, then.” Shivering a little, she let her hair drop into place and turned. “Let’s go.”
EIGHTEEN
BACK TO BELINDA.
Sarafina approached the desk in the lobby of Duskoff International, feeling the charm that Theo had given her resting in the hollow of her throat like a talisman against evil.
“You’re back,” Belinda greeted her, dropping her nail file to the desk with a curl of her upper lip. She sounded absolutely thrilled.
“I need to see Stefan.”
Belinda shrugged a shoulder, clad in a beautiful gray silk blouse. “You can’t. He’s not here.”
She placed a hand on the top of the desk and leaned forward. “What do you mean? Where did he go?”
She sneered. “Mr. Faucheux is a busy man. He’s supposed to wait around here for you?”
Damn it.
“It’s really important that I talk to him.”
“Don’t get your Hanes Her Way in a bunch. He’s traveling this morning. Mr. Faucheux left word with me to send David to you. He’ll get you where you need to be.” She plucked a pink Post-it from her desk with manicured fingertips. “The note Mr. Faucheux left for you says, ‘If you’re serious about what you said yesterday, meet me at the airport.’ ” Belinda glanced at her watch. “But you’d better hurry, he’s taking off soon.”
“Where is he flying to?”
Belinda made a face. “How the hell would I know? I’m just the receptionist.” She picked up the phone and pressed a button. “David will be right down.”
SARAFINA FIDGETED IN THE BACK OF THE SLEEK black limo as they turned onto the street that would take them to the airport.
Finally.
Across from her sat David, a water warlock, who was apparently something like Stefan’s personal assistant. He wore an expensive tailored suit and a mocking expression a lot like Belinda’s on his narrow, horselike face. He was suave, cultured, a bit androgynous, and superficially at least, seemed to fit right into New York City like a puzzle piece.
Sarafina had the impression he’d murder her in a heartbeat if he thought he’d get something out of it.
David, she was pretty sure, had served William Crane, too. She’d heard Thomas and company talk of him before. Every time the Coven and the Duskoff had a magickal smack-down or conducted a raid, somehow this guy escaped.
They’d scurried across town in midday traffic to an airport that dealt mostly with private jets. The entire trip David had either been on his Blackberry or his laptop and had spared little more than a glance at her. Really, the only time he’d opened his mouth was to take little jabs at Thomas and the Coven. Sarafina had handled her anger like an Oscar-winning actress, but she so wanted to punch this little weasel.
Sarafina sat ramrod stiff, staring out the window of the limo, her mind turning her situation over. She was currently careening through Manhattan traffic as fast as the limo driver could push his way through, in a mad dash to meet Stefan’s private jet, which would whisk her away immediately to parts unknown.
There would be no way for Theo and Darren to follow her, nifty charmed necklace or not. Was Stefan doing this on purpose? To ensure she wasn’t being watched by the Coven? If so, did he only suspect she still had ties to Thomas Monahan . . . or did he know?
The limo came to a stop next to a sleek midsized white jet with multicolored lines running down the fuselage and two huge engines mounted near the tail. Six windows lined either side. This was Stefan’s private plane, so of course it was top-of-the-line.