“I’ll have to muffle sound as well,” he said, “but if you need to sneak somewhere, that’s the way to do it. The question is, will it hold if you shift back to wordy form—if you need your hands or something. Could you give it a try?”
He felt the changing energy as Tag did whatever duals did to bring one form to the forefront. Paul tingled as his magical senses picked up the shift he couldn’t yet see. Maybe the tingle was just his own keen awareness of Tag’s utterly desirable wordy body taking shape just outside the reach of normal vision.
Suddenly, Tag was there, or mostly there. A portion of his broad chest was obscured, but the rest of him was visible.
And naked.
And oh, Lord and Lady and might as well add Trickster, because that old androgynous bastard was probably involved, as hard as Paul was.
Paul stood, not sure why, unless he was honoring that gorgeous body by standing the way you rose during the national anthem.
Studiedly casual as he dismissed the lingering remains of the spell, Paul said, “That didn’t work quite right, but I know how to fix it.”
“So do I.” Tag’s voice was thick. He stepped closer to Paul. “Your magic feels like doing shots of tequila. Naked. In a hot tub. With Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt groping me. Only it’s not them. It’s you. The magic’s part of you, and it was touching me everywhere. Please…”
He took one shaky step closer.
“This isn’t the time…” Paul started to say, trying to force his brain to override the urgent demands of his body. Oh Lord and Lady, Tag, young as he was, had a bit of white hair among the russet thatch on his chest, just where the white vee appeared in his fox form, and it was dead sexy. Paul never been particularly into hairy guys, but running his fingers through the red curls on Tag’s chest and following the thinner line down to the darker, wilder curls from which his cock thrust hard and hungry… Now, that was another story. “Not with a demon…”
Then his magic flared up like Fourth of July fireworks on the autumn day. The rest of the room vanished to his sight as if it hadn’t been there in the first place, and all he could see was Tag. Tag’s body, Tag’s face, Tag’s aura. Literally all he could see. The energy pouring off the fox dual was so strong and bright it blinded him to everything else. Tag’s aura was as beautiful as his body, the same clear reddish brown as his fur in fox-form, now laced with the healthy scarlet of desire and to, to Paul’s delight and amazement, something more, something that looked like trust and affection.
Screw being reasonable and practical. Better yet, screw Tag, or let Tag screw him, or some delicious variation on that theme.
Paul was shaking. The magic pumped through him so strongly that he bumped into the glass-topped metal table because he couldn’t perceive something machine-made that had never been alive. Over his feeble attempts to be reasonable, Paul’s magic and intuition roared a few vital things.
One: Tag was in danger. His brilliant aura would be way too tempting to the energy-eating demon.
Two: To protect Tag, let alone banish the demon, Paul needed to recharge his powers. Far from the earth and ocean he knew best and surrounded by concrete, steel and plastic, far from hearth, home and the heart represented by his vast, loving, aggravating family, the best way to do that would be through red magic. Sex with the gorgeous fox—someone he’d come to genuinely like and respect as well as desire in their short acquaintance—would raise enough power to light up Las Vegas, let alone light up one demon and send it back where it belonged.
And three, oh yes, three, the most important one of all: There was no way on earth or the Other Side that Paul could resist this man any longer. He could think of a dozen reasons why they shouldn’t take the time to fall into bed—but about a million why they should, all of them translating to a need so raw it surpassed words.
He reached Tag. Somehow both a nanosecond and a lifetime had elapsed between seeing Tag emerge magnificently naked and now, now when his hands were on Tag’s hot-velvet skin, and Tag was doing his best to touch him everywhere simultaneously.
“I want you naked,” Tag breathed into the ear he’d been nibbling, and his voice was honey and bourbon and smoke, the genteel South and an animal’s growl all at once. “Want you naked and leaning over the bed and ready for me.”
“Lube…night stand. Condoms too.”
“Don’t need condoms. We can’t catch or carry human diseases, and you can’t catch most of our bugs, except maybe mange.”
Right. Paul had known that, but his higher brain functions had evaporated. He even needed Tag’s help to shuck his clothes. Okay, he wanted Tag’s help for that, but buttons and zippers seemed unduly challenging. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around, that duals stopped being able to think clearly when they got lost in sexual pleasure and red witches stayed in control, riding the energy?
Tag seemed in control this time, though, and Paul was more than happy to go wherever Tag would take him. Wherever that might be, Paul was sure the trip would feed the magic—and the hungry lust that made him feel a wary sympathy for their incubus foe—just fine.
Chapter Nine
“Can’t be slow and gentle,” Tag said as he fumbled for the lube. “Not this time. Can’t be. Want to say more, but the wordside’s losing focus. Need too much, and the fox is still drunk on your magic. May get rough. If that’s not okay…”
In response, Paul groaned and thrust his ass out. “Sometimes quick and dirty’s what you need.” Slow usually fed the magic better, but with all the buildup, all the flirting and the interrupted make-out sessions that left him frustrated as a fifteen-year-old with a nosy little sister, quick and brutal, should be fine.
Tag didn’t say anything else, just stroked himself until his cock glistened with lube.
Paul craned his neck to watch. “So beautiful,” he said. “Tag, you are so beautiful. Do you have any idea how delicious you look doing that?”
Tag smiled, a feral grin, the teeth sharper and more vulpine than they had been just moments before.
He lubed Paul up then. Paul braced himself for something just this side of painful. His last steady lover, a woman, had been more than happy to take a strap-on to him now and then, witches being an open-minded lot, but she’d always used a smallish toy and pushed in slowly and gently. His ass was out of practice for taking anything as thick as Tag’s cock—not that he’d mind a few seconds of discomfort that would turn into pleasure.
But Tag took more care than his fierce words had suggested, exploring with well-slicked fingers, opening him up quickly and not exactly delicately yet thoroughly. Just this side of too rushed, but the urgency was habanero hot. One finger, then two, and then three, and Paul was moaning, “Oh Lord yes, that’s amazing, Tag, yes,” and fucking back against the fingers as if the rough impatience was the slow fuck he usually craved. “Please, your cock. Please.”
Tag withdrew his fingers then, but instead of entering him, he pressed himself over Paul and started kissing and licking and touching everywhere. He sniffed Paul’s skin as he did, as if Paul’s scent was intoxicating. His hard cock pressed against Paul’s backside, pushing as if it wanted in now, not just into the opening that was so eager to accommodate it, but somewhere deeper.
“Your skin’s so hot,” Paul crooned, unable to stop himself. “And your mouth… Good Lord and Lady, you’re a predator, and you’re taking bites, devouring me. Making me part of you.” He pushed his ass back against that tempting cock, spreading his legs. “I want to make you part of me. Want to feel you deep inside.”
Tag entered then, faster and harder than Paul would have guessed he could take, but in the moment, it felt just right, felt like heat and light filling his body and his soul. Teeth sharper than a human’s sank into the meat of his shoulder. Tag’s hand curled around Paul’s cock, stroking with a rhythm that matched the rhythm of the fucking.
Paul had more he wanted to say, sweet things and dirty things and a few completely random things about the case that had popped into
his head at this inappropriate time.
But he couldn’t talk, couldn’t form words other than “oh bright blessings,” and that only with his heart, couldn’t think at all over the combination of joy and panic.
As Tag entered him, Paul’s magic began dancing on his skin, lights and colors and sensations all weaving to a matrix of pleasure and power and pure, shocking exaltation.
Paul’s life had changed forever.
For the better, in theory. His heart wanted to believe that, and as Tag moved inside him and Paul’s magic and Tag’s strong dual aura danced together in a complex pattern that pleasured every cell of Paul’s body including the bone marrow, the hair and a few minor glands with functions he didn’t understand, his body did believe it, in the body’s way of living in the moment fiercely and completely.
But finding your one true love while hunting an incubus had a definite downside.
Up to now, Paul had had nothing to lose except his own life. While he strongly preferred to stay alive, witches had a different attitude toward death than most mortals. For witches, dying eventually was inevitable, but letting it slow you down was optional. For Paul’s bloodline, that was more true than most. Paul’s mother was the Donovan clan’s most powerful keeper of memory in five generations, and Grandma Josie had attended his cousin Elissa’s graduation from Cornell even though Josie had died the year before. With that background, he could be fairly cavalier about losing his life, because he knew he wouldn’t actually “lose” anything.
Tag’s life was another story. Tag’s life wasn’t his to risk, but now it was his to cherish and protect.
As a climax, both physical and magical, crashed over him like one of the rogue waves that sometimes hit the coast near Donovan’s Cove, Paul lost himself in both pleasure and terror.
Now he had love, the one true love that every witch hoped to find, the one who would catalyze his magical development as well as enrich his life. Now he had something to lose.
Chapter Ten
Tag eased Paul onto the bed and curled around him. Paul was trembling as if climax still possessed him, and for all that he was taller than Tag and no slouch in the build department—his well-cut, business-casual style had hidden lean muscle, almost a cat-shifter’s wordy body—he seemed fragile at this moment, like he needed Tag’s protection.
Like he might always need Tag’s protection, not because he was weak, but because he’d be ten times stronger than he already was with Tag taking point for him.
Tag’s foxside offered an image: two foxes hunting, two foxes mating under the moon, two foxes curled together in a comfy den just big enough for two.
Yeah. That felt right.
Wouldn’t Charmaine and Joe be surprised that Tag’s Las Vegas adventure ended in a wedding? He was pretty sure Nevada still had a silly one-man, one-woman definition of marriage, but if they could find someone who’d stand witness, the Powers didn’t care about the paper, just the promises. Trickster would definitely approve of an Elvis impersonator doing the honors, especially if they could find a drag-king Elvis.
Witches might have their own traditions that Paul would want honored, although from what Tag knew about witches, they’d have no problem with including drag-king Elvis in the plans as long as they could throw in some serious bits too.
He supposed he should actually propose before planning the wedding.
His foxside chuffed with amusement and opined in images, “What, you think he’s gonna say no? Smells to me like he’s yours and yours alone.”
What the fuck?
He said it out loud. “What the fuck?”
“What…” Paul’s voice was slow and sated, yet there was a definite undertone of alarm that went beyond anything those three words could justify.
“Fox duals aren’t monogamous. We’re just not. But you… What have you done to me?”
Paul’s heart cracked.
It was almost unheard of for a witch’s magic to dance for someone who couldn’t love them back. Almost, but not completely.
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Tag.”
Tag’s eyes widened.
Paul couldn’t decide if that stricken look meant Tag was trying to decide the best way to get away from the crazy witch, but he’d hardly blame the guy if that was the case. He must sound like a loser, and a weird, stalkerish one at that, falling in love with the guy after one fuck, even an extraordinary one. “Okay, it’s more like my magic is letting me know that if I don’t fall in love with you, I’m an idiot, because the magic thinks you’re a keeper. Might be you’re picking up the magic surge. Don’t be scared. The rest of me is being rational and saying I like you and you’re an amazing lover, but we just met yesterday.”
“It seems longer than that.”
“Dealing with murder-by-demon will do that.”
Tag pulled him closer. The heat of his body warmed Paul like lying in the rare Oregon sun, like curling up by the fire on a rainy winter day…like magic coursing through his veins. “That too, I guess. But I feel like I’ve known you forever, darlin’.” His voice turned extra silky, extra smoky, but Paul caught that it was shaky as well. The cocky fox was nervous as he was. “I’m freakin’ a little myself here, Paul, but it’s mostly in a good way. While your magic was doing its thing, I had a talk with my foxside, who thinks it’s about time I got myself a den for two.”
The crack in Paul’s heart mended itself at those words.
Then opened up again with the next ones. “What the fuck, Paul? I like you. I’ll go out on a limb and admit I’m about one whisker from fallin’ head over tail for you—and that’s whisker thickness, not length. Assuming we’re not both eaten by a demon in the next couple of days, I’d love to see if we can work long-term. But I’m not monogamous. Fox duals almost never are. Our whole culture is set up for non-monogamy: multiple partners, huge extended families, and I think we may be the only culture that has a formal ritual role for the fuck-buddy. So I’m a little freaked out by my foxside getting all possessive and exclusive and stuff.”
Paul took a deep breath. This was bad. Or maybe it was good. He didn’t know yet. “Foxes may not be monogamous. But witches are, once we fall in love. Especially Donovans, because our family line’s noted for strong red magic—sex magic. Red magic is the plastique of the magical world, powerful but messy. You mess with it, you might burn out your magic permanently, and possibly the whole neighborhood with it. It’s not that we think it’s wrong not to be monogamous, as long as everyone’s being honest. I love the idea of an extended family of lovers, to be honest…” He hadn’t known it until now, but the wistful words made sense as they passed his lips. He was bi, and while he accepted the idea that once he met Mr. or Ms. Right, the delights of the other sex would be shut off to him, he’d never liked it. “But it doesn’t work for witches.”
“Not normally. And normally, monogamy doesn’t work for foxes. But it seems to me the parts of us that are wilder and wiser than the thinkin’ brains believe we ought to be together. I don’t get it, but I’m not goin’ to run screamin’ just because it doesn’t make sense. I don’t know if this can work—but my foxside thinks it can, and he’s usually right.”
Paul nodded. The wilder and wiser bit resonated. The magic knew what it was doing. It almost always did, even when the rest of him hadn’t caught up. He had to trust it now.
“Why,” he asked the universe at large, “did you decide to make this happen when we’re already up to our eyebrows in alligators?”
“You expected good timing on the part of the universe?” The soft, amused voice of his twin, speaking in his head, proved the point about timing.
“Getting a message from my sister Portia,” he whispered to his lover. He sat up and pulled the sheets over the lower halves of both their bodies. As far as he knew, Portia, for all her telepathy, couldn’t actually see what he saw—but this wouldn’t be the moment to find out his assumptions were wrong. There was such a thing as too much information between twins, especially twin
s who were both telepaths.
But she knew anyway.
“At least my timing wasn’t as lousy as the universe’s. A few minutes earlier and you’d have blocked me out. Congratulations, by the way. Should I start planning the wedding?”
“Not yet. It’s complicated…”
“Isn’t it always?” Portia sounded remarkably like she knew what she was talking about. If she did, though, it was from seeing into other people’s heads and hearts when they were at their most vulnerable, when she really couldn’t help herself. Portia didn’t date, as a rule. She had a hard time leaving the family estate, because being around people who couldn’t shield was psychically painful, and even other witches, who understood the issue, might not want to have all their dates surrounded by the loving, nosy Donovan clan.
“More complicated than most, I think. Not ready to talk about it.”
He felt Portia draw back a little within his mind, as though the only way she could keep from being bombarded with his roiling emotions was to put up a wall.
It felt strange to be one of the ordinary people, one of the people Portia blocked out, but he supposed it was the only way he and Tag would have a chance of privacy.
His mind started to wander down dangerous alleys, pondering if there ever would be a Paul and Tag to need privacy, beyond this time in Las Vegas, or if their worldviews and needs were simply too different.
He forced himself to remember the corpses in the bed, forced himself to recall the names of the dead. He had to stay on track, even if his emotions threatened to derail him. “Any luck with the incubus research?”
“Get ready for a core dump. How’s your Latin?”
Talk about fast wireless. The information Portia had found was suddenly in Tag’s head, undigested and unsorted, but there.
“Whoa! Thanks, Portia. Got the gist, but I’m not sure I got the Latin perfectly.”
“I’ll email you the spell. You did remember your laptop, didn’t you? Or at least your phone?” He heard a laugh from Portia as he cursed. He had a mental block about computers, cell phones and any similar device. He understood they were useful, but given his powers of telepathy and true dreaming, he was constantly connected enough, thank you very much. The fact that the non-telepathic portion of humanity couldn’t always contact him was, in his opinion, a good thing. At least he could get some peace.
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