Call Me Wicked

by Jamie Sobrato

  The rumpled cover and pillows on the other side of the bed told him that his night sleeping in the same bed with her hadn’t been a cruel dream, but the room was silent. When he turned his head, he spotted a note on her pillow.

  Be back soon. Gone to find breakfast. LP.

  Her handwriting was small and exact, the writing of a scientist. Not a flight attendant. Man, he must have been blinded by sex that weekend to have ever believed that she was anything but a brilliant researcher. If he’d bothered to look past her hot bod and actually listened to her, he would have known she was way more intelligent than she pretended to be. But no, he’d been too focused on getting her on her back—and against the wall, and straddling him—again that he hadn’t seen the holes in her story.

  Before his mind replayed a selection of his favorite steamy memories from that weekend, Carson got out of bed. He stumbled across the room, his tired body not quite ready yet to give up its fight to get some rest, and made his way to the bathroom where he relieved himself. Then he stretched, splashed some water on his face, and went back out to the bed to take stock of his situation.

  He’d slept in his clothes, which were now rumpled but probably good for wearing another day. Besides, he had nothing else to wear. The room had a phone, but no television or computer. He did have his cell phone, too, although he’d been instructed not to turn it on or call anyone.

  So he was stuck here until Lauren returned. And he was still damn tired. He stretched out on the bed again and closed his eyes, figuring he’d probably need all the rest he could get if they had to be on the run again soon.

  But his mind wouldn’t quiet down. He wasn’t sure what to make of all the witch stuff—the magic and the secrets and all that—but he wasn’t finding himself feeling all that skeptical, either. And it did explain why Lauren was so much more thrilling to him than any mortal woman.

  Because she wasn’t mortal.

  He laughed to himself at the thought.

  Then a sound at the door silenced him, and he sat up on his elbow as Lauren reentered the room. She looked refreshed in the morning light, in a way that Carson distinctly did not feel. Her skin was luminous, her eyes bright as she took in the sight of him.

  “Hey,” she said. “I brought breakfast.”

  He then noticed the two bags in her hand. She crossed the room, and on the table next to the window, she took out two covered cups of coffee and two pastries.

  “You went out?”

  She shook her head. “Sebastian brought us some stuff.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “Yes, he’s agreed to let us stay here for now, until we have a better plan.”

  “But what does that even mean? Do you have any way of catching the guys who are after you?”

  Lauren sipped her coffee and frowned. “I have some memory of what they look like. I think I’m going to put all the information into a computer database that we have about The Order, including physical descriptions of those men.”

  “Maybe you could get an artist’s rendering of them.”

  She nodded. “Sebastian can draw very well. I’ll ask him to do it.”

  Carson took a bite of his pastry, a chocolate croissant, and realized for the first time how hungry he was.

  “So what else can we do? We can’t just sit here. Can’t you get the police involved or something?”

  She already said no to calling the police last night in the car, but he couldn’t help asking again. It just seemed insane that there were murderous thugs after them, and they had to battle them on their own.

  “No, we never involve the police,” she said, as if it were perfectly logical not to.

  “Doesn’t Sebastian have some idea of what you should do? I thought he was the big protector guy.”

  “He would have me take a new identity and leave the country, but he’s overreacting out of protectiveness.”

  “I want to help, however I can,” Carson said.

  Lauren frowned. “For now, we just sit tight and stay out of sight. I’ll keep talking to Sebastian until we have a better plan.”

  Easier said than done. Carson thought of his erection, which was back in a big way now that Lauren was in the room, and the crazy-lucid dream they’d shared last night. He craved her just as strongly as he had before, only now there was all this intrigue and danger and denial that should have been tempering his libido.

  But his dick didn’t care about witches or witch hunters. His dick only cared that Lauren was in the room, and that she was the most arousing woman he’d ever met, and that the dream he’d had last night was a vivid reminder of how amazing she was in bed.

  He smiled. “I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.”

  “SHE WON’T BE EASY to catch.”

  “No, she’s left San Francisco by now, I’m sure.”

  Lars Klein stared out the window of Lauren Parish’s apartment at the gray San Francisco day. Fog hung low in the air, giving the afternoon a chill and a damp scent of sea air. They’d combed every inch of the apartment twice, considering every bit of information a clue to the witch’s possible whereabouts.

  The video camera they’d left behind when they’d pursued her had given them the image of a man entering the doorway of her apartment for a moment, but nothing else. They didn’t know if he was a witch or a mortal, and they had no idea who he was to Lauren Parish.

  His partner Noam was reading files on the computer, making note of names and addresses.

  Lars did not hate witches. His purpose in life was to kill them, but not to hate them. His father, and his father’s father, and all the Kleins who had come before, had been witch hunters. He had been born into the calling, so to speak.

  He’d been raised in the secret society known only as The Order, and for as long as he could remember, he had been taught that his purpose in life was to rid the world of witches, because they upset the natural order.

  Some tried to claim it was a battle between good and evil, or a struggle between morality and immorality. The truth was simply a matter of keeping nature in balance. That was the ultimate purpose of The Order, as Lars saw it, and anything more was a bastardization of the truth.

  “She’s been careful,” Noam muttered. “I’m not finding much in the way of personal contacts on her computer. Just food delivery places, a dry cleaner, crap like that.”

  Lars turned from the window and surveyed the disheveled room. They’d torn the place apart, and by now, it seemed they’d found everything they were going to find.

  “She could be across the border into Mexico now, or on a plane to Europe for all we know.”

  “But we’re assuming she’s one of them,” Noam said as he closed the laptop. Lars watched as the younger man packed it in a case to take with them.

  “I think it’s a safe assumption. She fled faster than any mortal would have, and she didn’t call the police.”

  Not that it would have made a difference if she had. The Order had been evading the police’s lackadaisical eye for too long to find them even the slightest deterrent to their mission.

  “The family resemblance thing has been a false lead before.”

  “Lauren Parish has the eyes of a witch. There’s something hard in those eyes that I’ve never seen in a mortal. It’s the hardness that comes with the knowledge that one has power over other people,” Lars said.

  “Let her goddamn powers save her now.”

  The two men gathered up the last few things they wanted to take from the apartment, then slipped out. Their plumbers’ uniforms were a safe decoy in case they ran into any neighbors, but they exited the building without being spotted.

  Five minutes later, they were sitting in their van, studying a map of California.

  “There’s one obvious place for a witch to go in this state,” Lars muttered, as he eyed the southern portion of the state.

  “L.A.”

  Lars nodded. “West Hollywood. If she’s anywhere…”

  “I’ll bet she’s ther
e.”

  They’d only recently begun to crack the underground network that seemed to exist around the famous neighborhood that was known more as a place to look for stars than anything else. What was hidden beneath the glitz and tourist bustle was a labyrinth witch haven.

  Gaining access to it without getting killed was a challenge in itself, but The Order was making progress. The Order didn’t have the advantage of supernatural powers, but the most skilled of their hunters, Lars among them, had keen senses of intuition that could detect witch from human. It helped that witches often had distinctive physical beauty that set them apart from humans. But mostly The Order relied on traditional spy methods to seek out the witches, and when necessary, DNA testing to positively identify them. The Order was experimenting with technologies that helped them differentiate the electro-magnetic fields that were created when witches used their supernatural powers.

  This generation of witches had proven to be their first real challenge in centuries. Instead of cowering, some of these younger witches had chosen to fight back. More frequently than ever before, members of The Order had been killed trying to track down their prey.

  Who had done the killing, they didn’t know. They only knew that they were getting close to something big, and it would take skill and patience to find the truth.

  Lauren Parish, with her carelessness, might lead them right where they needed to go, if they were lucky. And Lars, for all his years of witch hunting, had come to know that luck was always on his side.

  To be a hunter was to understand when he had to let go of reason and rely on the senses, to follow his animal instincts just as quickly as he followed his intellect. Lars, born of The Order, was above all else a hunter.

  He would hunt down Lauren Parish, with her cold, unrelenting beauty and her steely eyes, and he would take her. He would show her just how little power she had, and then he would rid the world of her for good. His cock stirred at the thought.

  They headed toward 19th Avenue, which would take them south, out of the city, and he could only suspect, closer to their prey.

  7

  THE NIGHTCLUB WAS EMPTY, but a Nine Inch Nails song still pumped from the speakers, and overhead strobe lights flashed. Lauren had never lain down on the dance floor, and she was surprised how clean it was, how smooth and shiny.

  But then Carson was on top of her, mounting her, and she forgot about the floor against her naked flesh. She gasped as he penetrated her, stretching and pushing into her where she ached most. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled him closer until he filled her all the way.

  “Closer”…That was the name of the song playing, she recalled in a haze as he claimed her mouth and thrust his tongue in.

  She dug her nails into his hard shoulders, and she returned his fierce kiss with her own. Her muscles were coiling so tightly around his cock, it was all she could do to hold on to the edge without letting herself come so soon.

  So fast. It was happening so fast. They were sweating…a pool of it forming between her breasts, and on her belly. His sweat and hers, mingled together.

  He felt too good inside of her. So good she couldn’t imagine this ending, couldn’t imagine letting go.

  Why were they on the dance floor? And where was everyone? The questions faded as he pumped into her faster.

  She watched his face, dark and intense, his gaze locked on hers, never looking away, and she wondered why she’d wanted to hold off. She couldn’t imagine saying no to this ever again.

  So what if they were lost? So what if their lives were ruined? So what if they died tomorrow, as long as they had each other right now?

  Inside her, his cock grew stiffer, harder, and he pressed deeper into her as he neared climax. He was hitting her in just the right spot…so right…so good…she was almost there…

  He cried out as he spilled into her, and she let herself go with him. She came hard, her body overcome, her every nerve stimulated.

  And then she was in a dark room. Lauren blinked, looking around. The hotel room. The clock radio read 5:00 a.m.

  Her body was drenched with sweat, and between her legs, she was aching, throbbing, just on the other side of orgasm. She took a deep breath and sank heavier into her pillow.

  What the hell?

  It had all been a dream? Again?

  Damn it.

  She looked over at Carson, who was breathing fast, stirring in his sleep, his left hand grasping at the sheet and his brow furrowed in concentration. He must have been having the dream, too, and she wanted in the worst way to wake him up and make that dream a reality.

  No.

  She had to be good. Had to practice restraint. Had to keep her eye on the matter at hand. Dealing with The Order. That was her purpose in life now, wasn’t it?

  She wiped at the sweat on her forehead, and then she decided she needed a long, cold shower. But she couldn’t risk waking up Carson and making this night even more difficult to get through.

  So instead, she rolled over, putting her back to him, and closed her eyes, praying she could make the rest of the night without dreaming.

  LAUREN’S EYES had started to glaze over as she sat at the desk, keying in information, trying her best to distract herself from Carson. It was their second day stuck inside Sebastian’s hotel, and their second day recovering from a night of intense erotic dreams. She wasn’t all that accustomed to having orgasms in her sleep, and the experience was oddly unsatisfying. It left her aching for sex in a way that normal desire did not. It was a bone-deep kind of aching.

  Carson had been in the shower for a while now, and when he came back into the bedroom and stood near her, the ache intensified even more. The fresh, clean smell of him had lust pounding so hard in her veins she almost didn’t hear him when he spoke.

  “Where did you get the computer?”

  “Borrowed it from Sebastian.”

  “What are you doing?” Carson said as he peered over her shoulder at the computer screen.

  She wanted to grab him and screw him like an animal. She wanted his mouth on her body, on all the places that were throbbing.

  “I figured if we’re stuck here, we might as well be doing something productive, so I’m entering all the new information I have into the database we have about The Order.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “I’m a scientist. I know a few things,” she said. “But it’s really as simple as keying in data—nothing complicated.”

  “Right. I keep forgetting you aren’t actually a flight attendant.”

  He poked her in the ribs, and she laughed even as her body responded to the physical contact. But a pang of guilt hit her in the stomach. She really regretted the lies she told mortals, but something about Carson made her crave honesty. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” she said. “I hope you can understand now why I had to.”

  “Sure. Besides, it was Vegas. I’m the fool for even thinking you’d give me your real name. I think I was thrown off because Macy was involved, and I didn’t think she’d have any reason to lie to me.”

  “You were right about that. But that’s best friends for you. Even if she didn’t agree with me lying to you, she never questioned me about why.”

  “Will you ever be able to tell her the truth?” Carson said, pulling up a chair at the desk beside her and watching as she typed.

  She felt another pang of guilt. What was it with these mortals lately? “I’d like to but I doubt it. At least not any time soon.”

  “Not until after the uprising?”

  “Right.”

  She was a bit surprised she’d told Carson about the witches’ plan to stop living in secret and let the world know they existed for real. But then again, she’d been so desperate to distract him—and herself—from thoughts of sex, she would have said just about anything.

  Part of her desperately wanted to sleep with him again—apparently the part that controlled her dreams—while another part of her felt a crippling fear of pissing off Sebastian by
sleeping with Carson in this place and giving him all the reason he needed to get rid of Carson. Plus there was that issue of sexual addiction. Right there was a chance—albeit a small one—that he’d be able to return to his normal life. If she seduced him again and he became obsessed all over, he would probably stop at nothing to see her again. And now that The Order most likely knew of his connection to her, he would lead them right to the witches’ doorstep.

  Still, having Carson this close was a distraction, to say the least, and she could tell their physical closeness had a strong effect on him, too. She wanted to back away, to make things easier on him, even while she wanted to forget all the reasons they shouldn’t be together.

  Lauren glanced back at the computer screen, at the sobering information about The Order, and reminded herself why they were here. Not for sex, but to save their lives.

  Carson may not have understood yet how much the course of her life would be altered from now on, but she did. She was losing her old life. Now that she’d been identified, the chances that she could return to her life were remote. She couldn’t let herself think about it too much or she’d be overcome with rage and sadness. Until the uprising, she’d have to build a new network of friends and lovers, seek out a new occupation, find a new reason to exist. And it would include defeating The Order.

  If she was able, she’d also make sure Carson could return to his old life. But that had to be a secondary goal now.

  “I can’t believe such blatant racism is happening in America today, right under everyone’s noses.”

  Lauren looked at him, and she had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him. That he could grasp the root of the issue so quickly and not get sidetracked by the distraction of the witches’ supernatural powers said a lot for him.

  “Our powers do complicate things,” she said. “It gives people more to fear.”

  “Fear comes from ignorance, though,” he said. “Don’t you think that if everyone understood your powers, they’d be more tolerant?”