by Michele Hauf
But he didn’t have a beating heart to instruct him to be sensitive, she reminded herself, and that delighted her. Because when she finally wore his heart in her chest she wouldn’t care that love had snubbed its nose at her for over a century.
She couldn’t help that the residual buildup of emotion from all the hearts she taken over the years made her gushy and needy in a romantic relationship. But never fickle.
No, never.
But soon she would be able to do something about these silly romantic yearnings. Soon.
The man had lazed about enough.
She clanged the tin spoon she held against the copper pot, startling the reaper up to a shaky stand.
“An attack!” His wings flicked out in a whoosh and he bent in a defensive posture, grabbing her about the waist and shoving her behind him protectively.
Ananda stumbled and landed on the chair, the pot of—luckily cooled—oatmeal spilling onto her lap. “Oaf!”
He turned to spy her indelicate situation and quirked a dark brow. “We’re not being attacked?”
“It is merely breakfast, you idiot. Now it’s ruined, thanks to you.”
Wings folding and receding into his back, he helped her up, the oatmeal dripping from her skirts onto the floor.
“Back!” She shoved him away. That plan had gone over not at all. “Such a mess.” Ananda held out the soiled skirt.
“I’ll get it.” He dashed to the table and returned with a towel to sop up the oatmeal and didn’t stop until the floor was spotless. “You should change,” he offered, moving to the sink. He poured water into the pot and scrubbed it clean.
Ananda shook her head in disbelief. Washing the dishes and he’d cleaned up the mess? The males she had known had never shown such respectful remorse. Curious. She had thought he hadn’t the heart to be considerate.
“Don’t worry,” he said, drying the pan. “I won’t watch you change. Maybe.”
She huffed. Now that sort of comment was to be expected from his gender.
She did need to get out of this dress. The cottage had no rooms, save the washroom, in which it was too tiny to change. Her bed was right behind the chair, and she dressed there.
But she couldn’t get beyond his remarkable cleaning skills and his willingness to do so without being prompted.
“For a man who hasn’t a beating heart, you’re surprisingly gracious.”
He shrugged. “Just because I cannot love doesn’t mean I can’t relate to other people’s emotions. You were angry over the mess, but now you’re curious. Is it me?” With a stretch of his arm he flexed his muscles. That broad chest was certainly something to admire. “You find me attractive, witch?”
“No.” She turned and made a show of looking through the dresses hung on the rack beside her bed. But when she glanced over her shoulder, she caught him staring at her. He smiled broadly and puffed up his chest.
Arrogant reaper. She didn’t even know his name, and she didn’t want to. It would make it even more difficult when the time came to rip out his heart.
“Vashon,” he offered, tossing the drying towel over the back of a chair. “I didn’t tell you my name earlier. If we’re going to chum around one another the next few days, we should be on a first name basis.”
“Great.” The man could read minds. Lovely. “Turn around, Vashon.”
* * *
Vashon could only remain turned away from the witch for a moment as she shed her clothing. With her back to him, she slid the long dress down to her waist. In his peripheral vision, he detailed the curve of her bare breast framed between her arm and torso. If he wanted to, he could trace her curves with but a gesture. He needn’t be anywhere near her to make Ananda feel his magic. But it was never satisfying unless he could also experience the sensory pleasures.
On the other hand, a little torment could prove to be a lot of fun. He did owe her for the rude awakening.
Silently sliding onto the kitchen chair, so she was not aware he watched her, Vashon unobtrusively lifted a finger and glided it through the air in the shape of the curve still exposed beside her arm.
Ananda sucked in a breath and paused. The fall of her hair would feel exquisite splayed over his chest, Vashon thought. He would resist the urge to physically touch her, though. For now.
He pressed two fingers together, as if squeezing a nipple, and—
She gasped and tugged the dress over her breasts, glancing over her shoulder. Vashon had already turned aside and was gazing out the snow-frosted window. From the corner of his eye, he saw her drop the dress and reach for another in a turquoise fabric.
A flick of his finger aimed between her legs made her clutch the bed, the new dress falling about her ankles. Again he tilted his gaze away as he sensed she looked toward him.
“Gorgeous weather,” he commented on the snowflakes falling thick as down.
“I think there’s a breeze coming in from...somewhere.”
Vashon smiled and peeked under his arm. Lithe and sleek, her body, yet her breast was full and the nipple red. He lashed out his tongue, wishing he could taste her, but her reaction, a hand fluttering to her breast, pleased him well enough. His cock hardened, and he wondered if he could make it to the full moon without taking the witch. If he intended to reap her soul he should be happy with that as spoils.
But oh, that pale, smooth, lickable skin.
As she pulled up the dress around her hips, another flick of his finger guided his invisible touch down her stomach and toward her mons. Ananda gasped and this time when she turned to stare at him, their eyes fixed.
“You! You’re—how dare you!”
“I wasn’t looking,” he argued. And then, tucking his chin against his elbow, he muttered, “Too much.”
“You touched me!”
He held up his hands. “I’m sitting way over here. Are you a mad witch, then?”
“You’ve air magic.”
He cocked up a brow and winked at her. “Want to feel it again?”
“Oh!”
A thrust of her hand sent a force across the room that knocked him off the chair and tumbled him to the floor. The back of his head hit the solid oak table leg, and Vashon’s lights went out.
Chapter Four
Hastily tugging on her dress, Ananda tiptoed over to the fallen reaper, sprawled before the flickering hearth fire. Licking her lips, she studied the play of firelight across his tautly ridged abdomen and wished the touch she’d felt on her breasts and between her legs had been real.
Her wanting heart shivered. Maybe you can find real love?
“Ridiculous,” she chided her swooning conscience. “And most especially not from this one who would play with me so cruelly.”
Cruel, yes. He’d stroked her with sneaky invisible magic.
But the indelible touch had also been scintillatingly delicious.
She knelt beside his prone body and dared to glide her fingertips over the landscape of his abdomen, finding it much warmer than she had expected from a demon reaper. If his heart was adamant and cold, how could his skin be so fiery? It was difficult not to map out the intriguing heat beneath her hand.
Ananda inhaled, allowing his snow and fire scent to embrace her senses. Fragrant herbs and dried flowers hung everywhere in her cottage, but none could compete with his masculine allure. She might bottle his essence and use it in a spell, but the only use she could imagine for such a thing would be a love spell.
“They never work on me,” she muttered with regret for the many attempts she had previously made.
She drew her eyes along his neck and up to study his mouth. Holding a finger above his lips, she dared not touch. Exhaling, she didn’t realize her breath was skirting his mouth until his eyes flashed open. They were not red now but rather a deep lapis lazuli.
“Witch?” he questioned. That annoying smirk tilted the corner of his mouth. “You assaulting me in my slumber?”
“I would not dream to.” On the other hand...oh, yes, she would.
<
br /> Ananda began to push away but he gripped her by the arms and pulled her down atop his chest. Her mouth landed on his mouth. His hand slid up her back, holding her against his steel-hard body as he kissed her soundly.
Closing her eyes, she fell into the exquisite taste of him, the expert mastery of his lips and the utter bliss of lying atop this solid warrior. He tongued her teeth and she sighed into his mouth. A twist of his head and she tilted hers to meet his continuing kiss.
This was how it always began. Sweet, delicious, so right. Then fantasies of happily ever after blossomed and ideas of never again being alone skipped through her thoughts.
But it always ended with disinterest, the loss of passion and wrenching accusations.
Ananda pushed away—successfully this time—and sat up beside the aggressive reaper. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“You kissed me back. You wanted it.”
“Yes, well—” stating the truth wasn’t going to score him any points “—now I do not. So get up and make yourself useful. I need firewood.”
“For another kiss.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to snoop about this intimate cottage for things to do today. You’ve a stack of dog-eared romances by the bed. Is that how you get your thrills, my poor loveless little witch?”
“Those stories prove far more compelling than that plain old kiss you gave me.”
“Is that so?”
A sweep of magic-induced wind stirred about her shoulders and thrust Ananda forward and down. She landed with her palms on either side of Vashon’s shoulders and had to straddle him with her knees not to sprawl across his body. “Stop that!”
“If you wish to be rid of me for some time then you must kiss me.”
She wanted to kiss him again. Mercy, but she wanted to run her hands all over his hot skin and unzip his leather pants and see what other exquisite things he hid from her. Sex did not entail love, after all. And when she no longer had a heart to care about the consequences, she would have sex all the time without having to consult her silly romantic heart.
But now her heart defied her to take a chance. Would this be the time she finally found the love she desired?
Stupid witch. He’s playing you for your soul. You know that.
Ananda nodded. A quick kiss to his mouth and she stepped away, sweeping a white light over her body as she did so. It would repel his small magic.
But it wouldn’t protect her fragile heart.
* * *
Vashon stacked the wood beside the hearth then swept the bark and snow from the bricks.
“I made you stew.” Ananda set a bowl on the table and waited for him to acknowledge the kindness.
“Kindness will not win my heart,” he said, seating himself before the table.
Her eyes were so blue, like the sky after the rain. It was a color he’d like to tuck in his pocket so he could pull it out and wonder over it whenever he needed a lift. He spooned up a helping of stew.
“If not kindness, what will? I could strap you across my bed and dig out your heart with my athame.”
“Why have you not already done so? Oh, right, you need my permission— Wait.” He dropped the spoon in the bowl. “You want me strapped across your bed?” He waggled his brows. “I like kinky.”
The witch bristled, but he noticed that her nipples were hard beneath the thin blue dress. He was getting to her, slowing peeling away her defenses. She’d never be able to take his heart.
And he would win her soul.
“Then let’s do it,” she offered, strolling over to the bed and patting the mattress.
Vashon’s jaw dropped open. Seriously? She was much easier to convince than he’d predicted.
He crossed the room in three steps. Drawing his fingers down the lush spill of her hair, he tilted her head and leaned in for a kiss—but the witch pressed a finger over his mouth.
He did not like where this was headed.
“Your heart for a little kink?” she challenged.
He chuckled. “No deals. I don’t need sex from you, witch. I’m perfectly fine to sit and wait for your death, which will be in about a day and a half, yes?” He plopped onto the bed and leaned back on his elbows.
“You’re cruel.”
“You’re the one who wanted to deal sex for a heart. That’s beyond cruel. Why are you so desperate for my heart? Can’t you find a human and rip out theirs? Why do they grant you permission to do that, anyway?”
“They merely promise me their heart. They don’t actually believe they must physically hand it over. Some details are better left unmentioned. I have been doing this for well over a century. Every winter solstice. It’s not a process I enjoy, but I must do it to survive.”
“Then why not continue with the usual process?”
“Because I tire of...feeling.” She turned and put her hips against the bed, her back to him. “Each heart I take imprints the former owner’s life experiences within me. Love is the strongest of all, and it makes me passionate and wanting. But love is not to be mine. And I no longer enjoy the tease humming within my bones. If I had your heart, a solid, non-beating bit of metal, then I’d no longer be tormented by what love promises or ache for it so desperately.”
“And yet that is all I desire. Love.” He stroked the hair down her back, coiling the softness about his fingers.
“I don’t understand that.” She looked over her shoulder. “If you cannot feel love, how can you want what you don’t know?”
Vashon tapped his chest. “My mother was human. A bit of her resides within me. She used to tell me how love changes a person’s heart and makes it strong and happy. How it literally alters your world and your perception. I want what she once had. And I would sacrifice my immortality for it.”
“Foolish reaper. Love hurts.”
“It makes me sad that you’ve only experienced pain from love. Why?”
She shrugged. “My last lover told me my heart was fickle, that it could never make up its mind, and never would. He was right. Love is fickle.”
“But that doesn’t mean you are. And love can be beautiful,” he offered, remembering things he’d seen as a child, watching his mother draw pictures of her lover.
His demon father had never lived with them, and had only shown himself to his mother at night while Vashon slept. Vashon had desperately wanted to meet the man, but through his mother’s energy he’d indeed felt something.
Then, when he he’d transformed into an immortal reaper at twenty-one, all tendrils of that emotion fled.
“I simply want to stop pining,” Ananda stated. “Love is not guaranteed to everyone who walks this realm.”
“I know that. But your heart is real. It is you, Ananda, fickle or not. I trust your heart.”
“You do? Because I don’t.”
“When it is ready, your heart will find and know love. You’ve a bold yet gentle soul. You deserve to have love.”
“Those are the first kind words you’ve given me.”
“I can be kind, but it’s not wise if I intend to reap your soul.”
“Of course not. Though you have also shown me kindnesses.”
He had? Fool. Sometimes he did things without thinking them through.
She turned and studied him. Vashon enjoyed her regard, so intent and thoughtful. No judgment in her gaze, only wonder. It softened his hardened heart and made him want to give her anything she should ask—save the one item she most wanted.
“Would you kiss me without intention to cajole or coax me to give you what you want?” she asked. “Can you act without guile?”
“Of course I can.”
“But do you want to, is the question.”
Yes, he did wish to kiss her without guile.
Vashon leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, a soft pressure that barely connected them, yet inside, he felt her touch like a snowflake melting upon an adamant surface.
Chapter Five
“
What are we doing?” Ananda whispered.
The reaper’s eyes chased hers, firelight flashing in the deep blue depths. She looked at her hand, fingers spread upon his chest. For a witch who intended to rip out this man’s heart, she was going about it in a strange manner.
“We’re taking what we need from each other,” he said. He strolled his fingers down her hair, and she admired the pulse of his biceps. “I like kissing you. You like kissing me, yes?”
“I do.” But she couldn’t understand why.
Why could she not resist this one man? She’d resisted countless others. Had even refused marriage proposals. Because she never wanted to be caged; her heart must remain free. Until someone could hold it with care and worthy regard. Until she trusted that her love was real. And not fickle.
“That’s why it needs to be hard,” she whispered.
“What?” He leaned up on his elbows, bringing their faces mere inches apart. “You confound me, witch. What you want is in direct opposition to what you take. If you wish to use me for a heart, then chain me down until the moment you require that heart. But if you wish to use me as a tender to your needy soul, then kiss me again, and don’t stop.”
Ananda breathed upon his chest, vacillating between the two choices. It should be an easy call. Chains.
Yet instead, she kissed him until she forgot the reason she’d called the reaper into the consecrated circle. Because she needed him far more than her soft heart could conceive.
“Touch me,” she whispered against Vashon’s mouth.
He loosened her sleeve from her shoulder and the dress slipped to her breasts. The reaper teased his fingers along the neckline, his eyes following intently. He mapped her with his eyes, and stole her with his touch. No magic in the world could ward her against this wicked embrace.
Turning her onto her back on the bed, he hovered over her. With a twist of his wrist, claws shinged out from his fingertips and he carefully dragged one down the center of her gown. She should protest the damage to her clothing, but the hot path of that claw moving between her breasts and down her stomach stifled Ananda’s gripe.