The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

  Manuel knew what he’d done to her. His chuckle was low and masculine. He sat back on his heels, fingertips trailing slowly down her torso as he shifted to vertical. Luna congratulated herself on her choice of partners. Not only could Manuel cook, but his body was excellent: brown all over, leanly muscled—truthfully, not one iota less attractive than a djinni.

  His cock was especially fetching in the double-strapped leather harness she’d fashioned to contain it. Unwilling to trust everything to his devotion, she’d enchanted the accessory to prevent him from coming before she did. Interestingly, Manuel seemed to relish the curb on his impulses. His erection towered from his crotch, harder than she’d guessed a human’s could become.

  He gazed adoringly at her from his kneeling position between her out-sprawled legs. She was glad she’d improved her body’s original state. He stroked her smooth thighs admiringly.

  “You’re my everything,” he declared, halfway between a purr and a growl. “I don’t know how you do it, but when I touch you I feel as if you’re touching me. Your pleasure literally brings pleasure back to me.”

  This was thanks to an enchantment too.

  “I’m glad you enjoy pleasuring me,” she said.

  He swung back down and kissed her, his tongue playing excitingly with hers. His hunger was wonderful. Quite rightly, he convinced her she was the most beautiful—and the cleverest—empress who’d ever lived.

  His lips wandered to her ear. “Take the reins,” he whispered, his urgency harshening the request. “Make me fuck you like I want to.”

  The reins he spoke of were literal, attached to the base of the charmed leather straps that strutted his erection. When Luna smoothed the two trailing lengths, he shuddered.

  “Please,” he said, his brown eyes glowing almost like a djinni’s. “Pull me inside you.”

  She pulled him toward her by the harness, exerting pressure and watching his expression. The bindings were very snug. They wouldn’t release him any more than her magic would.

  The ridged muscles of his stomach jerked.

  “Is this what you want?” she teased.

  “This,” he answered, pushing his tip inward.

  Her back arched as he entered her carefully. One good thing about this stolen body was that it hadn’t grown jaded by surfeit. It desired pleasure more than Luna had in a while.

  Not since she’d tricked Iksander into bedding her.

  Her current lover growled as he felt her react to his slow entry. He filled her well, and her pussy was hungry. Because his nerves were linked to hers, he received the same charge as her. She shivered as—despite the tightness of the leather harness—his shaft swelled inside of her.

  That must hurt a bit, she thought.

  Her walls creamed at the idea of his discomfort. Her lover flung back his head, his Adam’s apple standing out in his strong tan throat as he forged deeper. His obvious enjoyment made her wonder if she should have magicked herself a link to what he was feeling. Unexpectedly moved, a moan of arousal pushed through her vocal cords.

  “Yes,” he said, looking at her again, his dark-lashed eyes intense. “That’s what I want from you.”

  Taking the initiative, he came down on his forearms and began to stroke into her. His hips rolled smoothly, in and out, with the grace and power of an athlete. Luna couldn’t resist the pleasure building inside of her. Deep and steady he pistoned, the rise of his excitement betrayed by his quick breathing. His penis felt hot and thick stretching her, the extra friction from the harness teasing her higher. Sensing this, Manuel’s handsome face flushed darker, his tongue wetting reddened lips.

  Luna hitched her knees up and pushed at him.

  “Do it,” she commanded. “Bring me over.”

  He increased his speed, but that wasn’t enough for her. She dragged the trailing reins across the small of his back, exerting a good strong pressure against the muscles that worked there.

  “Harder, lover,” she demanded. “I want to know tomorrow that you were in me now.”

  The human liked being ordered. His breath rushed out. He grabbed her hip with one hand, reaching for the nearest carved post with the other. The bed was a big Jacobean tester: dark oak, heavy blue velvet hangings, topped by a mattress so cushy it wouldn’t dare to squeak. Manuel went all out so forcefully the solid structure thumped.

  The bunching of the arm that stretched above her was unimaginably sexy.

  “God,” he cried in his native language, her suspense heightening his. “You’re so beautiful you make me crazy. I want to come enough to explode.”

  She would have preferred to torment him longer, but her stolen body had its own rhythm. It climaxed at his next inward drive as if Alma hadn’t had sex in months. The cry that rang from her throat was shocking. Ecstasy squeezed her tight around him.

  Caught by both their pleasure, Manuel cursed and poured into her.

  “Mi amor,” he murmured, collapsing heavily on her. “My God, you’re good at that.”

  He was hot and sweaty. As the chemicals released by her orgasm faded, the way he nuzzled her earlobe began to displease her. His hand slid up and around her breast, claiming it as if it belonged to him. That wasn’t right. She’d fought and won this body. Ownership of every inch was hers.

  “Darling,” she said, giving him a gentle but definite shove. “Please don’t lie on me that way.”

  He mumbled but continued to nuzzle her. That was the problem with spelling men to love you. You couldn’t turn their infatuation off at your convenience.

  “I said let go,” she insisted, putting a glimmer of power in it.

  Manuel backed off with an aggrieved expression. Luna knew she had to tread carefully. If she used too much power on him, she’d turn him into a zombie. That would render him about as useful for outside errands as a scaled blue ifrit.

  Having publically presentable employees was a must. She’d skipped back along the timeline. As much as she enjoyed changing certain things, she didn’t dare change others. Her own dimension was a thin skin away. The harm she’d wrought in the Glorious City gratified her, but it hadn’t happened yet. To risk undoing her victory would be a true tragedy.

  Until it was a done deal, she needed to keep her interaction with this realm minimal.

  “Darling,” she began soothingly. She didn’t get to finish. From the sitting room came the sound her cell phone made when it rang, a silly but entertaining human song about a female maneater. Because Luna knew her phone was here, in the drawer of her Louis XV nightstand, someone out there had to be mimicking its ringtone.

  “Don’t answer it,” Manuel said. “It’s too late for phone calls.”

  “I have to, darling. One of my . . . overseas business deals might need attention. You rest here. Have a nap. You won’t even notice I’ve been gone.” She kissed his forehead with the merest hint of compulsion. To her relief, he settled back sleepily.

  She pulled on a black silk robe and tied its belt firmly. Taytoch—for the signal must come from him—wasn’t worth exposing her glories to, purloined or otherwise.

  As she expected, the ifrit captain waited in her ward circle. He bowed deeply when he saw her.

  “Yes?” she prompted, not bothering to complain about his intrusion. The timing suited her anyway.

  “Radiant Empress,” he began. “I thought you’d like to know your mirror space is stable and safe to enter. It is only room-size now, but the copying is lovely, and the square footage is sure to grow. The enlivening spirit we attracted seems to be high quality. My crew and I believe you’ll be pleased.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” she said. He seemed to expect her to leave and check on it at once, probably eager to collect praise. Luna wasn’t in the habit in overdoing compliments. She kept her expression cool. “Have you other news you wish to relay?”

  The captain’s snake eyes closed and then opened, no doubt due to him communicating silently with an underling. “The human has been exploring. She found our discard pile in the ab
andoned barn, the items you didn’t wish us to reconstitute for the house. They seemed to excite her. She ran around looking at them and talking to herself.”

  Luna’s interest sharpened. “You’re sure no one else was there?”

  “My lieutenant would have sensed it. No other conscious energy was present.” He closed his eyes in the same slow blink as before. “The imp I posted in the library said your ward made another visit. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but she wandered for a while.”

  “Did she remove any books to read elsewhere?”

  “My imp says not.”

  “Have him keep an eye on her. Best she doesn’t find my private collection.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the ifrit agreed.

  Luna tapped her well-kissed lips. She ignored the memories that accompanied the gesture. As long as Taytoch was here, she ought to set the next phase of her plans for Georgie into motion.

  “Yes, Your Highness?” Taytoch asked, sensing she had more to say.

  “Tomorrow, Georgie attends her first day at the local school. I believe we can count on her being teased as a new kid.” View cafés were popular in Luna’s city—the same as they were elsewhere. The pirated human TV the establishments aired offered an incomplete but useful window into human behavior. “Just in case that doesn’t happen, I’d like you to send your most persuasive imp—in vapor form—to egg on some teenagers to treat her badly. The ‘good’ individuals, please. I don’t want her aligning with them. Her remaining prudish won’t serve my purposes.”

  “We tried with clothes,” Taytoch said. “We even burned an oracle bone to divine which garments would tempt her. Still, she wore her old ones today.”

  “You haven’t failed. Sometimes conversions require patience, especially voluntary ones. I doubt she needs more than another push or two.”

  “I may know the ifrit to supply it. Pink is subtlety itself when it comes to whispering in receptive ears.” Taytoch hesitated a moment and then went on. “Wondrous One, are you certain you want to make the human so dissimilar from the sultan’s future dead beloved? Won’t Iksander be less likely to fall for her again?”

  Luna didn’t appreciate Taytoch figuring out her intentions, but she couldn’t change that now. In any case, stupid servants had drawbacks too.

  “I’m not worried in the least,” she said airily. Uninvited, Iksander’s final words to her returned: I hate you, you fucking bitch. Luna shook off the memory. “Najat’s personality wasn’t what won Iksander. They barely knew each other when they decided they were soulmates. Her stupid, sugary face was his downfall. I’m certain that part of history can repeat.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  —

  SCHOOLED

  Alma wasn’t an early riser. Because Georgie only had a learner’s permit, Manuel drove her to school on Monday. Some older guys—especially handsome ones like him—wouldn’t have bothered talking to a girl her age. Manuel wasn’t like that. He and Georgie had an actual conversation, like it wasn’t even a chore.

  She found out he learned to cook from his mother, and that he had three sisters.

  “All my sisters are older,” he said. “They taught me to respect women. If I didn’t, they smacked the back of my head.”

  His eyes twinkled, his mood friendly. Georgie thought she could try asking him her question. She turned toward him on the seat.

  “So,” she said—she hoped casually. “Have you seen anything weird since you’ve been at Ravenwings?”

  He glanced at her quizzically. “Weird how?”

  “Like spooky weird. Or maybe peculiar.”

  He laughed. “That house has an old soul. You’re probably sensing that.”

  The house having an old soul didn’t really cover what she’d experienced. Seeing her doubt, he smiled reassuringly. “Did you know the Spanish word for soul is ‘alma’? Beautiful, deep Alma.”

  Georgie had known that, but it probably didn’t matter. Simply saying his lover’s name seemed to have blissed Manuel out.

  He pulled up in front of the beige brick school building. Kids were going in, groups of them laughing and throwing things at each other. They looked normal, not so raggedy as the kids from Kind Shepherd. Was that a good thing? Was she normal anymore? Apprehension swirled inside her.

  It wasn’t like she’d been Queen Bee at her old school.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Manuel said, giving her arm a pat. “You’ll make friends in no time. I’ll pick you up whenever you call me.”

  She nodded, not believing him but resigned to getting through the day.

  Getting through it was the best she could do. Despite the definite sensation that she was being watched, she found her classes, kept her mouth shut, and tried to figure out who was who at BBHS. The cliques were the usual: sporty-popular, pretty-popular, druggies, church kids, and assorted nerds. The Goths were tamer than at her previous school. Alma’s unseen staff had stocked her closet with cooler stuff than they were decked out in.

  By the end of the day she’d decided on her best bet for fitting in.

  The Society for Excellent Young Scholars met in an empty classroom down the corridor from band practice. The band was awful. Discordant drones and toots accompanied her self-forced march down the hall.

  Georgie promised herself as soon as she was grown up, she’d never make herself to do shit like this again.

  Stuff, she corrected. No more stuff like this when I don’t have to.

  The door to the meeting room was open. She peeked in and found ten kids gathered around a fake wood table. Their leader was easy to pick out. She was nerdy-pretty with corkscrew curls and thick eyeglasses. Her skirt was the navy pleated type prep-schoolers wore, her cream-colored sweater a near match for Georgie’s. Around her neck, a tiny gold cross hung.

  That’s a good sign, Georgie told herself, touching her own as she strove to ignore the tension in her stomach.

  She dried her palms and prepared to knock politely on the door.

  As luck would have it, before her knuckles could make contact, a cool wind blew past her from behind, lifting the bits of paper on the table in a peculiar swirl. That caught the group’s attention. Every kid turned to look at her.

  Crap, she thought automatically.

  “Hello,” she said. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Georgie McFadden. I just transferred in today. I’m hoping to find someone to help catch me up in class.”

  The kids’ faces had been blank, but as soon as she explained the reason for her presence, their expressions shifted to derision. The lead girl especially seemed scornful. She tossed her head and then left her nose up there. Georgie heard whispering but couldn’t tell which kid it came from.

  “How is that our concern?” the lead girl asked haughtily.

  “Uh,” Georgie said, breaking into a sweat underneath her arms. “I thought some of you might be tutors. You are the honor society.”

  “We’re the Society for Excellent Young Scholars.”

  “Right, but you’re still the smart kids. I can pay if that’s what—”

  “Why are your lips still moving?” the lead girl demanded.

  She turned away as her companions snickered. None of them were looking at Georgie now. Her stomach sank. Now they’ll pretend you don’t exist, she thought.

  “Was that you whispering?” a girl asked, confirming this.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” said another, joining the fun.

  “I might have heard a little buzzing,” a boy suggested. “Like an annoying fly.”

  “Maybe we should shoo it. Like a shoo fly pie.”

  The group laughed uproariously, as if this were the height of wit. Georgie gaped at them, amazed this had gone south so fast. These were her people. She was academically excellent too. Her mouth worked, but she couldn’t get words to come out of it. These kids had literally struck her speechless.

  “Ooh,” said a boy, shooting her a sly glance. “I think the fly is about to cry.”

  Before his guess pr
oved correct, Georgie spun and strode away down the hall. The same odd breeze that had announced her presence blew her hair back and disappeared.

  Fuck them, she thought, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. Seriously, fuck them all.

  She didn’t correct her language. “Fuck” was the word she meant, so “fuck” was the word she used. She didn’t call Manuel to pick her up. She knew the way now and could walk to Ravenwings. Anger fueled her journey well enough that it seemed to take no time at all.

  Her first thought as she crossed the threshold was that she actually hoped she ran into Connor. Imaginary or not, his company was comforting.

  Alma’s staff was as good at staying out of sight as ever. Georgie didn’t encounter anyone until she reached her room. To her surprise, Alma was inside the suite, sitting on Georgie’s bed with an unzipped Coach bag beside her.

  “I hope you don’t mind me coming in,” she said. “I was curious to hear how your first day went.”

  Georgie mortified herself by bursting into tears.

  “Oh dear,” Alma said, getting up to gently embrace her. The hug felt awkward, though Georgie appreciated her kindness.

  “Your dress is too nice for me to cry on,” she said, pushing back after a few seconds.

  “Well, perhaps it is.” Alma squeezed Georgie’s shoulders. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Georgie didn’t really want to share the story, but Alma was trying and it seemed rude not to meet her halfway.

  “That’s terrible!” Alma clucked when she finished. “You were just hoping to make friends. Those nitwits deserve to have their toes roasted.”

  For some reason, the declaration struck Georgie as funny. Her mother never would have said it. She’d have encouraged Georgie to understand and forgive.

  “That’s better,” Alma said when Georgie grinned. “Never let your enemies see you cry. Winning the next time is always preferable to pity.”

  Georgie shook her head ruefully. “I don’t think I was in danger of getting sympathy.”

  Alma patted her shoulder. “All for the best, I’m sure. And now I have a present to cheer you up.”