He had realized all she'd waited for was for him to reach maturity—a twisted maturity of her own devising. And when he'd reached manhood, she'd consumed him completely, making him her consort, teaching him the ways of her magic, yet never sharing its power, channeling from him into herself, twisting him into a being of her own creation. Suffocating all of his own inherited white magic.
But there had been one thing she needed of him and had been unable to claim. Had never been able to claim. And he thanked all the higher powers that it had been so.
By the time he'd discovered the truth of her deception it had been too late, because he was firmly ensorcelled, her diabolical chains so tightly bound around him there was no hope of escape.
Until one night, he was offered one slim chance to break free of her. He'd flown fast without second thought and had taken as many with him as he could manage. They all agreed death would be preferable to being recaptured by Belinda.
Yet, they had all been marked and altered by her dark, demented magic in such a way they could not totally break free of it—not yet. But soon. There was one thing he needed to work his own sorcery to best advantage.
He again thought of the perfume bottle. He had learned to harness the power and make it his own, to live with the high price of freedom, the heavy weight of twisted memories, and the night magic. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that nothing came without a price.
But tonight was not about Belinda—it was about Rachel. Sweet Rachel and her cleansing presence. As he had been the key to Belinda's dark power, Rachel was the key to reclaiming his own power—an innocent willing to offer him her submission without coercion, her love without subterfuge—her ancient magic without mindless, enslaved compulsion. He'd felt her desire and acceptance, and felt her special, pure, untutored magic reaching out to him that first night when she'd come to the estate, entwining itself inside him. And he had initiated the taking quickly. Thoroughly.
Her willing acquiescence would offer him a much stronger magic than Belinda had stolen with his unknowing, naïve devotion. Yes, tonight was for Rachel. Tonight was not the night to reveal his ultimate purpose to her. Tonight was for passion, to more closely bind her to him through the primal magic at his command and to draw her own magic from the prison inside her. To test her trust—to draw her core of power into his keeping, and eventually to teach her to use her own magic to enhance his in order to defeat their enemy.
There would come a time when he would bring her into his world completely, for he would need her at his side. It must be done slowly. Eventually, she would beg to enter his world, and she would know what she begged to become a part of. Only then would he know the full magnitude of his power and be able to defeat Belinda once and for all with Rachel at his side.
Her unique scent had been identifiable immediately—it belonged to him, as did she. Centuries of searching for the key had finally brought her within his dominion. He felt the clean magic grow within him with each meeting. Soon, he would be strong enough to challenge Belinda and end the hiding forever. Would it be enough to thoroughly destroy every trace of what she had wrought with her deviant sorcery?
He felt the power weave its spell through Rachel when she released the bottle from the box, and even though he knew she didn't fully understand it, he'd felt her acceptance—her trust in him. A pinch of myrrh, a dash of cinnamon, the essence of the lotus, a portion of his primal lust—all combined to draw the substance of her true nature to the surface. This was the moment of no return. He felt it. She had accepted his gift.
Rachel thought she knew the man who called himself Julian Donata, but she didn't know the beast imprisoned inside him by day—and he reined it in through the power of night when he was with her. Midnight was the hour when Belinda's sorcery held the greatest sway over him and the others. Rachel thought she wanted the beast, but if she ever really understood that part of him, he knew she would flee from him in terror. She was not ready. But soon she would be.
Nighttime wrought the ferocity. It was the time he must be with her and combat the darkness inside him. By consuming her essence in the blackness of night, he magnified his power and could fight the call of Belinda's evil. Though Rachel called to the savageness embedded in his soul, when his sex was cloaked deep inside her welcoming liquid innocence, it was like being cleansed in white light; rippling goodness stroked his whole being. She alone awakened the light buried deep in his soul.
A knowledge within him, the part that was indelibly interwoven with Belinda, sensed she and her minions were close. He had already informed Drago to advise the others to be on their guard. So far, they had been lucky, but it couldn't last. Belinda played with them, like a cat with mice. She would pounce in her own time and try to catch them unaware. He must make sure that didn't happen.
His gaze strayed across the desk and landed on the golden mask. He reached out and picked it up. Rachel thought it was a game he played with her—she thought she knew the look of the man. One day she would understand that games were something he no longer enjoyed—he'd been a participant in too many in the past that had sucked his soul dry of any such enjoyment.
He placed the mask securely over his face. She didn't know the look of the night beast—what the dark magic of Belinda had wrought inside him and what became clearly evident as darkness descended. While within Belinda's grasp, it was contained, and he hadn't been aware of its true magnitude. Once he'd broken free, nighttime unleashed his primal nature into its physical embodiment—as well as the primal magic unfurled inside. Belinda had controlled so much about him, masking his nature even from himself. But he had come to terms with the price of freedom. That payment allowed him to control the beast—not Belinda.
He now wore the mask to protect Rachel from the outward face of truth. She wasn't ready to be confronted with all that he was. He could only hope that one day she would understand.
But he would not give her up. She was tied to him in ways she could never understand, and he meant to draw her more fully into his realm. Tonight he would touch her soul as she had never experienced before. And claim it.
He would not ravage her as Belinda had done him, making a slave of him, using every unwilling dark passion that resided inside him against him, until he knew no other way. He'd been too young and naïve to fight her control. He would teach Rachel how to control her own nature, how to combine it with his own to defeat the evil that awaited.
He did not mean to take Rachel and her power by force. There would come a time when she would know what she offered, and what he was, and what she would be required to give up—and to accept—when he asked her to become his consort. Everything hinged on her willing acceptance.
She also thought the necklace represented his possession and control; she didn't know it provided her with an element of protection, that it was imbued with his magic. It also served as a warning to those who followed him, offering her safe passage in their midst. She now wore it at all times as a symbol of her acquiescence to him, unknowing of its protective elements.
But tonight was not about the danger from without. Tonight was for the magic of passion, of love, of desire. All the tantalizing boundaries within.
Tonight was for seduction of the soul, the release of the mystical spirit locked inside.
He tilted his head and looked toward the door of his office, inhaling deeply. Her scent wafted through the air to tease him. She had arrived. His lips curved upward in anticipation as he shifted the mask, making certain it hid the effects of Belinda's power.
Everything was prepared for her pleasure. He walked across the room to a door hidden within the wooden panels of the wall. Between the walls were dark corridors leading to all sections of the house, including tunnels beneath the property with important avenues of escape if the need should arise. These corridors and tunnels weren't indicated on any architectural map of the estate, and he'd discovered them by accident when he'd come out to survey the property. He'd recognized immediately that it was the per
fect domain for him.
Since then, he'd had people he trusted reinforce the tunnels that had remained unused for longer than he imagined many residents in the town had lived. The corridors had been cleaned, each of the hidden doorways oiled and repaired, and traps set at the outer perimeters.
He now walked silently through the dark recesses until he reached the doorway he was looking for. One of the few advantages of the night magic was his ability to see clearly even on the darkest of nights. This door led to an intimate room, a small study lined with books. It wasn't the main library housing the collections compiled over the centuries the house had stood, but an intimate reading room with a fireplace, and a small enclosed garden room attached.
He stood back and surveyed the room, noting the round table covered in lace to the left, the silver candelabra at its heart offering subdued ambiance to the room, the fire in the fireplace providing a warm, intimate glow.
He walked over to the fireplace, pivoted around to face the closed door, which led from the main part of the house—envisioned the hallway down which Drago would at this moment be escorting Rachel.
He clasped his hands behind his back, felt the heat of the fireplace, the magic of the night swirling around him, sparking inside him. He felt his cock begin to harden and lengthen in anticipation of the confrontation about to begin.
He envisioned the dress he'd chosen draped over her body. The hint of smoky transparent nylon strategically embroidered with lotus flowers. The silk and lace stilettos gracing her slender feet, drawing attention to the elegant slope of her calves and ankles.
He heard the whisper of her silk-clad thighs as she traversed the hallway, and he inhaled again, scenting her arousal, now mingled with the perfume of his potion, and smiled with anticipation.
CHAPTER 3
The night wind howled as the sleek silver Lincoln pulled up outside her house. She pulled the black satin cape more closely around her shoulders against the cool night air, as the dress she wore offered little protection from the clinging breeze swirling all around her.
Energy seemed to surge and twirl inside her. She had managed to contain the fiery, intense response she'd had to the perfume, although it felt like something alive now resided inside her just beneath the surface of her skin. It was a rippling presence, ready to explode on contact. She needed to get to Julian, and with that thought, she practically ran down the steps.
Shivering with anticipation, she raced toward the car, eager to be reunited with him. She reached up to caress the necklace encircling her neck as she entered the dark recesses—the connection soothed her. The soft, supple leather of the luxurious black interior conformed to her contours as she sank into its enveloping embrace. A dark window separated her from the driver, so she had no idea who actually drove the car—it could even be Julian himself, for all she knew. Why did she never ask? Because it wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was the man waiting at her destination, wherever it might be. Why did she trust him so completely? The door closed, locking her snugly within its embrace, and she settled back to begin the journey.
She loved him more than she should considering how little she knew about him. The incident tonight with the perfume should make her more than wary. It didn't. It might be unexplainable, but then so were most things about Julian. It was not her way to trust so completely, but with him there was no other choice. There were moments, when she was at work, or the lulls between the arrival of his notes, that she questioned her motives in pursuing and accepting this mysterious relationship.
When her thoughts turned to ending it, panic consumed her, and that now familiar blaze of desire zinged through her blood. The fire of his touch, his demands, driving her wild, bringing her alive, and the knowledge of being bonded to that one person that made everything else fade into the background, halted her thoughts in that direction. From the very beginning she'd willingly given herself to him with an understanding of souls long parted, a sense of recognizing the need for this man, and only this man, seared deep beneath her skin.
As she dropped her head back and closed her eyes, she inhaled the animal earthiness surrounding her. It was the mark of his lingering presence, the elemental power in the air stroking across her body, bringing her to life.
As usual, his note had been explicit, accompanied not only by the box containing the perfume bottle, but by a be-ribboned silver box containing the clothing she would wear this evening. Curiosity at what he planned for the evening ran rampant through her mind as she prepared carefully for the night before her.
She felt the urge to lie on the seat and bring herself to climax, thinking of him, feeling him, scenting his presence inside the slow-moving, silent vehicle. She itched to touch herself, and her arousal permeated the air in the close confines. Memory brought his scent to her mind. Rich, primal, and seductive.
Parting from him became more and more difficult with each encounter. Why was it he only sent for her near the stroke of midnight? The only difference from those earlier meetings was that he no longer waited for a full moon. The trysts had now escalated to weekly missives calling her to his side.
He never let her drive herself, but always sent a car for her—always sent a special gift. And it was always he who initiated the contact, and he'd warned her never to come to his home without the summons.
She'd been tempted to break the rule on more than one occasion, but had feared the outcome. What if he sent her away forever? Refused to see her again? It wasn't worth the risk. She wanted to be with him more than just on these midnight encounters. She wanted him in sunlight as well.
Or was it the mysteriousness of these midnight trysts that intrigued her? His passion for her submission thrilled her. If it became ordinary, like every other couple she knew, would she still want him so intensely? And really, wasn't that the reason she didn't question his demands?
She liked the feeling of fire raging through her veins—the tingle of excitement that flooded her pussy with anticipation of each meeting. She loved the look of him—the mask he insisted on wearing even though she knew what he looked like—had seen him in town. She knew he was heart-stoppingly attractive and the mask hid no imperfection. He was leonine perfection—primitive, intense, driven.
She clenched her thighs together, urgent for his touch. She could feel the sharp rasp of his nails against her legs, opening them, delving between them. Oh, God, she ached for his possession. Her breathing grew harsher, and her nipples contracted at the thought of his thick fingers driving inside her, pushing her toward the abyss of swirling need only he could assuage.
But tonight was different somehow. The hunger gnawed at her stronger than ever before, needing to be taken by him ferociously, obliterating all thoughts but him from her mind. By now, he was intimately familiar with every inch of her body, knew exactly where and how to touch her, to bring her to the very edge of desire, and hold her there, begging for release—only the release he could give her.
The scent of her passion grew more intense within the confines of the vehicle. He'd told her he enjoyed her intimate fragrance; it aroused him to know she was ready for him at a touch, a word spoken, a hand raised to caress.
And he was right. At just the thought of him, her pussy flooded with liquid heat, coating her thighs, readying her for him. Right now, her vagina ached for his presence, clamping down on emptiness, yet knowing soon, soon he would be with her, filling her, drive her to the very edges of sanity.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she attempted to control the aching need. What would he do, she wondered, if she tore off her clothes as soon as she saw him, and begged him to fuck her immediately?
He would send her away. The game must be played out the way he orchestrated, or he would send her away, punish her for her lack of control. She must bend to his will.
She'd always thought of herself as being in control of her life, planning her future, acting out her part in a civilized, controlled fashion. But she'd discovered another part of herself
, one that demanded to be free of the veneer of civilized expectations that eagerly bowed to the primitive passions seething inside her at the hands of her dominating lover. The wildness simmered inside, waiting to break free.
She reveled in how he made her feel, and she loved how he felt beneath her hands, inside her body, leaving his unique scent to linger inside her long after their passion was spent. She could taste him when she licked her lips, smell him on her body, in her hair, embedded deeply beneath her skin, singing in her blood.
He owned her, body and soul—she admitted it. Yet she felt no guilt over that thought—to be owned by another. She reveled in the feeling. She knew so little about him, but what she did know and experience she loved with a passion she'd never experienced before.
She knew he had at least one servant who answered to him. He owned a huge estate. One thing she had done was search on the Internet to see if she could find out more about him—she couldn't help herself. In the end, she'd been able to find out next to nothing. He was a secretive man, that much she had been able to determine. And beyond the passionate bondings they shared, she really knew nothing of his life outside of these heated trysts.
She wanted to know more, but was unwilling to confront him, knowing he would share his thoughts with her in his own time.
She'd heard no gossip about him being with anyone else. No women coming and going to his estate, no wife or marriage that she'd been able to uncover. So why did he keep their assignations secret?
There were no ready answers. What she did know was that she trusted him—with her life, if necessary. As often as she'd tried to examine this relationship, it still surprised her at her depth of commitment to a man she knew little about.
Primal Magic: Scent Page 2