by Lisa Plumley
His gaze dipped over her, examining her with friendly interest. Feeling awkward and cold, Dayna rubbed her arms. The gesture made Deuce’s gaze flick to her armband…then hold.
She jabbed her chin outside. “Who’s he?”
Startled, Deuce lifted his gaze. “He didn’t tell you?”
“He mostly grabbed me and ran.”
“Typical. Again…sorry.” Deuce’s attention wandered back to her golden armband. “That’s not protocol.”
They both looked through the car’s window. Dayna’s tracer could be seen near the passenger door, staring bleakly into the distance. His distress reached out to her, a tendril of feeling she didn’t want to be aware of. What difference did it make to her if he was upset? She was surprised he had feelings at all.
Aside from his face, he appeared to be made of stone.
“He’s T.J. McAllister,” Deuce said. “T stands for—”
The door opened. “Shut up, Deuce,” T.J. snarled. His face, clean shaven when they’d met, now looked raspy with beard stubble. Those whiskery hairs glowed golden in the autumn sunlight. “Quit yapping and drive. You know where to go.”
The car remained parked at the curb. Deuce put both hands on the wheel, humming quietly as he tapped his fingers.
T.J. frowned at him. “Fine. Please quit yapping and drive.”
“Not until everyone’s ready.”
T.J. darted a glance at Dayna. “We’re ready.”
Deuce cleared his throat. He shot T.J. a meaningful look.
“Oh Christ.” With jerky motions, T.J. fastened his seat belt. He gestured for Dayna to do the same. “Deuce is a stickler for details. You won’t get anywhere with him by bending rules.”
Dayna buckled up. “We have a lot in common, Deuce.”
Deuce’s gaze met hers in the mirror. “I like you already.”
“God help me.” T.J. scrubbed his palm over his mysterious new beard stubble. “Stop the damn love fest and get moving. It’s a long way to Covenhaven.”
Covenhaven. Remembrance of where they were ultimately headed chilled Dayna all the way through. She hadn’t thought she’d ever return to her hometown—the site of so many mistakes. If she had, she might have left things differently.
Unfortunately, changing her past was impossible now.
Deuce pulled out. The Mustang’s tires squealed. The force of their departure threw Dayna against her seatback. Up front, the stoppered vial swung crazily from the rearview mirror.
T.J. grabbed it. “What the hell is this doing here?”
“You, uh, abandoned it in the street by mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
“The poor little guy was lost without his mission. He crashed just a few yards away from where you freed him.” Deuce cast a pleading glance at his partner. “I had to rescue him.”
“It’s. A. Bug. A bug set on us. Don’t you get it?”
“If you paid more attention to the rules, the honchos at the IAB wouldn’t need to use a monitor. After the Cobalt witch—”
T.J. cut him off with an obscene suggestion.
Driving one-handed, Deuce snatched the vial. He murmured a few words of reassurance to its winged occupant, then hung it on the rearview again. Clearly, Deuce was the softy in this team.
“I’ll take care of it,” he told T.J. as he cornered, then zoomed toward Dayna’s street. “You’ve got enough to deal with.”
T.J.’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence. But Dayna knew his tense demeanor owed itself to her. For once, she was glad to have a few inches of vinyl and padding between them.
With cautious interest, she examined T.J.’s rigid posture and strong profile. His nose looked sharp enough to cut glass; his jaw held a similarly hard edge. Only his mouth appeared gentle. He wore tattoos—none of which were decipherable—on both brawny arms and on his neck. In vast contrast to her own SPF-protected pastiness, his skin appeared burnished with sunshine. She felt as if she might singe her fingers if she touched him.
She wanted to do it, all the same.
Dimly, she remembered hearing warnings during her teenage years about warlocks—about their charisma and pleasure-loving natures. Every nonhuman mother in Covenhaven had cautioned her daughter to be wary of warlocks. The human mothers would have issued warnings, too, had they known such beings existed; with a few exceptions, humans were oblivious to witchkind. It was better for them that way. Now, confronted with a warlock for the first time in years, Dayna wondered if those old cautionary tales were justified.
As though he sensed her scrutiny, the tracer looked over his shoulder. At the same time, the Mustang stopped abruptly.
“We’re here,” Deuce announced.
Surprised, Dayna looked out the window. Her apartment—one half of an older duplex unit—squatted in its usual place, with a scraggly ocotillo near the sidewalk and a batch of prickly pear cactus by the front door. The rest of the landscaping consisted of decorative rocks, all of them gray and dark with rainfall.
The tracer continued to watch her. Ominously.
Deuce unbuckled. “You’re allowed to bring a few personal items. It’s procedure.” Aiming a significant glance at his unmoving partner, he palmed his car keys. “I’ll help you.”
“No, thanks.” Hastily, Dayna unbuckled. “I travel light. What do I need? Enough for a day? A week? What’s the plan?”
Her question was met with stony silence.
“A little help here?” she prodded. “Now that I’m committed, I’d just as soon get this over with. How long will I be gone?”
Uncomfortably, Deuce shifted. “We don’t know. We’re assigned to track you and bring you in. Nothing more.”
Irritably, T.J. wrenched his gaze from her armband. “Can’t you magik whatever you need when you get there?”
To him, it was an obvious solution. But Dayna knew better. She didn’t have magic enough to do that. She never had. That was part of the reason she’d left Covenhaven in the first place.
Bereft of words, she jabbed his seatback. “I can’t do anything if you don’t let me out of here, Sasquatch.”
T.J. touched his jaw, then scowled. Threateningly.
“I’ll need time to change, too,” she added, pushing her luck. “My clothes are completely soaked. Shoes, too.”
“Fine. Don’t dawdle.” T.J. got out, adept and formidable. He moved the bucket seat to make way for her, then fastened his gaze on hers. “I’ll take you naked if I have to.”
He looked as though he meant it. God help her.
“Hmmm.” With a what-the-hell shrug, Dayna climbed out from the backseat. She accepted the hand T.J. gave her, crossing the final few inches that separated them. “Well, that would be one way to go. Too bad your warlock mojo doesn’t work on me.”
His eyebrows rose. “It doesn’t?”
“Nope. Maybe I’ve lived in the human world for too long.”
“You’re lying.” T.J. gave her a long look. “Not that it matters. If I want you naked, I’ll have you naked.”
“Right.” She withdrew her hand. “With a spell. Maybe.”
“With these.” He showed her his palms, then flexed them with a wolfish grin. “And your willing participation.”
His gaze lengthened. Dayna felt herself weaken. She swayed toward him, suddenly fascinated with his mouth.
T.J.’s husky laughter snapped her out of her daze.
Damn it. She’d have to be on guard against the pull of his warlock appeal. His skills seemed especially powerful, too—maybe that’s why T.J. was marked by the cleft in his chin. “That one’s a gimme,” she snapped. “Next time I’ll be ready.”
“Mm-hmmm. I’ve heard that before.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But not from me.”
Leaving him behind, Dayna scampered up the sidewalk, acutely aware that she was about to leave her hard-won human-style life behind…maybe for a very long time. And that she was about to fac
e her problematic past at long last…whether she was ready to confront her demons or not.
Chapter Five
With his shoulders painfully taut, T.J. stared at the desolate yard that bordered Dayna Sterling’s apartment. The runaway witch had no sense of the natural world. Her ocotillo had been pruned to fit the human aesthetic; now it was dying. Her prickly pear cactus drooped, too, planted thoughtlessly in a shady patch that deprived it of essential sunlight.
“If we don’t get her out of here,” T.J. said, “she’ll die.”
Deuce laughed. “It’s an up-and-coming neighborhood; I’ll agree with you there. But come on—it’s not deadly.”
Unsatisfied, T.J. clenched his jaw. A moment passed.
He looked out the window to gauge the passage of time.
The sun had scarcely moved. T.J. frowned more deeply.
“It’s only been three minutes.” Deuce shot him an amused look. “Give her a chance, why don’t you?”
“She said she travels light. She should be ready by now.”
His partner laughed. “You don’t take your dates on overnighters, do you?”
“My dates aren’t bound by human convention. Neither is she, as much as she pretends to be.” T.J. glimpsed a flicker of movement at one of the apartment’s windows. His whole body snapped into alertness. “That’s it. Here she comes.”
For the space of four breaths, he waited.
When Dayna didn’t emerge, he frowned.
Deuce noticed. “Hey—what’s going on with you?”
I need her to come out. No. T.J. couldn’t say that.
He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. If this was what it felt like to be bonded—out of control, compelled by need, fascinated against his will—he hated it already.
“I have more important things to do. Back in Covenhaven.” Like free myself of this unwanted bond. Alive with the need to move, T.J. squinted at Dayna Sterling’s front door. “I want this grab over with. Now.”
“You Patayan are famous for your patience.” Deuce’s gaze dropped to the birthright symbol on T.J.’s arm. With interest, he examined the golden Gila monster tattooed there. “Waiting another two minutes for this snare won’t kill you.”
“I’m only half Patayan. The rest of me is warlock. And all of me is sick of waiting.” He grabbed an item from Dayna’s backpack, then opened the Mustang’s door. “I’m going in.”
Dayna was still packing, shoving items willy-nilly into a duffel bag, when she sensed the tracer’s presence.
First, the warning tingle she’d felt before prickled the nape of her neck. Then it swept along her shoulders and both arms, making her drop her clothes. Finally the charge swept to her jaw, making it ache with the same sweet-sour sensation she’d gotten as a child when sampling Pixy Stix. T.J. McAllister wasn’t sweet, and his attitude toward her was decidedly sour.
She turned to face him anyway.
Instantly, he made her bedroom feel small. Not just because of his size and strength, but because of his…aura. That was the only way she could describe it. T.J. pulled all the light in the room to him. Sunbeams seemed happy to glide along his skin. They pursued him as he moved closer to her, turning his hair a leonine gold and revealing the renewed stubble on his jaw.
T.J. held up something. “You forgot these.”
Dayna’s gaze arrowed to the thing in his hand. At first she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Then she spied the two small objects inside the translucent, balloon-shaped container.
“Buffy and Spike! How did you…?”
“They bear the imprint of your breath. I thought you’d want them.” T.J. shrugged. “It was a simple pinch.”
She squinted in disbelief. “That’s my pencil cup?”
“Like I said, a simple pinch.”
“Of course.” For him, everything seemed easy. Amazed, Dayna accepted the magiked container. She peered inside. Both her goldfish swam contentedly. “It was nice of you to rescue my fish. You don’t seem the type to bother with pets.”
“The Patayan are guardians. We believe all living beings should be protected.” His gaze lowered, taking in her wet clothes and bare feet. “You should put down your goldfish.”
“Why?”
Before he could tell her, she knew. A rush of emotion moved from him to her with the same unstoppable force it had before. Longing. Curiosity. Need. Hunger. Even a rough tenderness, all snarled together in a torrent of feeling. The subtleties of the tracer’s mood added up to one undeniable message—a message that made Dayna stand motionless before him.
I want you.
The rawness of his emotions buffeted her, making her quaver. She set down Buffy and Spike, her fingers clumsy with imminent loss of control. The magiked bowl plunked to the bureau with a slosh of liquid. Water drops slid along the slick surface, sparkling in a shaft of sunlight as they raced to the floor, compelled by gravity to move toward a single purpose.
Similarly driven, T.J. stepped nearer. The warmth of his body reached her; the rain-washed scent of his skin made her dizzy. Only inches away, he fisted his hands and looked at her, his eyes dark with a need he didn’t have to voice.
Dayna’s heart pounded. He was new and unknowable and here. Even as she told herself this was probably just warlock spell casting—just some macho ruse to demonstrate his dominance over her, both in the witching world and right here in her own bedroom—she knew there was more between them than that.
“I only came in here to give you your goldfish.”
She smiled. “Do you always lie to yourself this way?”
“Only when I have something to hide.” His gaze lifted to her face, then lowered, with obvious intent, to her mouth. He gave her a grin filled with self-mockery. “And I always have something to hide. But that’s pointless with you, isn’t it?”
“You mean because I can tell when you’re lying?”
“Because you can feel how much I want you.” He kept his solemn gaze locked on hers. “Right here. Right now.”
Involuntarily, Dayna nodded. She could feel it. She could feel his desire, his needfulness…even his darker impulses.
At those, she widened her eyes. Images of the two of them, coupled in a naked embrace, filled her mind. She didn’t know if T.J. had put them there or if they were her own unfulfilled wishes. Either way, they were too powerful to deny.
“I don’t usually—” she began in a faltering tone. “I—”
“Me either,” he said, and kissed her.
The first meeting of their mouths was incredible, hot and wet and urgent and necessary…everything but sweet. With a hoarse inhalation, T.J. buried his hands in the damp ropes of her hair and dragged her to him, inciting all her nerve endings to a frenzy. Crowding closer, Dayna knew she could never get enough of his mouth, his hands, his heat and need and power.
Primitively, his emotions swamped her, coming faster and faster as their lips lingered, slid, parted. Their breath met and mingled; their bodies pushed nearer, impatient with the barriers of space and clothes. All that mattered was feeling. All that lasted was hunger. All that satisfied was more. More of their kissing, more of their touching, more of their arms and legs tangling together, leaving her weak and potent at once.
She’d never felt freer. With the tracer, there was no need to wonder if he wanted her. She knew he did, and that knowledge felt incredibly seductive. She clenched her fingers in his tank top, encountering not only the luxurious web of witchmade fabric, but also the hard ridges of muscle beneath it. Her hands shook as she held on, arching herself to get closer.
His violent groan encouraged her. So did his roving hands, his talented mouth, his fearlessness in tipping her off her feet and onto the bed, squashing unpacked clothes beneath them.
Her bed frame protested with a crack. The whole thing lurched. Faintly, Dayna heard her duffel bag drop to the floor.
She didn’t care. Driven by pure wanting, she splayed her fingers over T.J.’s back, then lifted them to his head. His hair fel
t close-cropped and unusually silky, the way she remembered witchfolk hair always did. But it also felt dry, even after the rainstorm they’d just endured.
That should have been no surprise. Her whole body felt dry now too—dry and overheated—licked by the sunshine that seemed to follow T.J.’s every move. More than likely, his body was as hot as hers…all over. Wanting to find out, Dayna grabbed his muscle-corded biceps for leverage and pushed nearer.
Her nipples brushed the huge wall of his chest, abraded by their writhing motions. Panting and giddy, Dayna gave herself over to the sensation. It was all she could think about. They rolled over, blinded by tangled sheets and forgotten clothing. They lurched sideways, unable to get enough, groaning between kisses, biting and taking, learning the sleek textures of wet mouths…the resiliency of arms, legs, and rocking hips.
“Touch me,” she urged. She wanted more, and T.J. gave it to her. His big palm took possession of her breast; his knee wedged between her thighs. Fueled by that point of contact, Dayna gasped and ground against him, awestruck by his strength—by his understanding of what she needed…what she yearned for.
Liquid heat flowed through her, deep and immediate. Pleasure rolled along every inch of her skin, creating a craving for more. She might be headed for a day of reckoning with her past, but right now she meant to indulge every ounce of wickedness she’d ever denied herself. She meant to take from T.J. everything he’d give her…and then some.
Greedily, she opened her eyes wider. She drank in the sight of her tracer, balanced over her with his tattoos gilded by sunlight and his mouth drawn in a pouty line. He would have hexed her if he’d heard her describe him that way, but his lips’ fullness defied any other description. Spurred on by his next kiss, she moaned and arched higher, her whole body aflame with a hunger only T.J. could gratify.
“Yes. More.” She grabbed at his tank top and yanked. The fabric resisted her efforts, so she shoved it out of her way, forcing it to bunch at his ribs. Her fingers made contact with bare skin, new and unexplored. She glided over his torso, encountering ridged muscle, silken hair, and remarkable warmth. Eager and determined, Dayna captured his lips with hers.