Witches Can't Fly (Otherworld Crime Unit Book 3)

by Nova Archer

  Theron had the overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms and cover her mouth with his. To kiss the smirk right off her face. He could just image what all the spark and fire would be like in bed. It was too bad she wasn’t really his type or he’d certainly try before he had to catch his private plane back to France.

  “I was merely taking pity on you, petite sociere. You are much too uptight and I thought you needed to...relax a little and enjoy what Nouveau-Monde had to offer.”

  The power she tossed at him nearly pushed him back a few steps. It was like basking in a forest fire. Her aura sparked and flared with orange, yellow and red. It was incredible to see. He ached desperately to reach out and touch her, to actually feel that kind of intensity on his fingertips.

  “You son-of-a—,”

  “Okay,” Caine stepped in between them. “Differences aside, are you looking to press charges against Lyra?”

  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” she growled nearly pushing past Caine. “To see me in handcuffs.”

  Theron took a long slow perusal of Lyra from toe to head, stopping at her pretty mouth. He wanted her to know full well what he was thinking. The flush in her face satisfied him greatly.

  “My sexual peccadilloes aside, I would hate to see you in handcuffs, Lyra.” He smiled. “I won’t press charges, Monsieur Valorian. I think we’ve come to a mutual understanding and it needn’t go any further.”

  “Well, now that the unpleasantness is over,” Laal commented, moving next to Theron. “I can take you back to the airport where your plane is waiting for you.”

  Theron nodded to the baron, but frankly he didn’t want to move. Standing here with Lyra glaring at him like a hungry tigress was exactly where he wanted to be. At least for a while. He hadn’t had a reaction like this to a woman in a long time. Maybe never. Especially not to Lyra—a woman completely not his type. Prickly and combative, she shouldn’t have done anything to his libido. But he couldn’t remember the last time it flared so hotly before. So intensely.

  Had she been this intense the first time he’d met her? If she had, he couldn’t recall. She had perked his interest certainly. He had even flirted with her, considering bedding her if all went well, but she had skittered away from him in the end. The rejection of his advances had actually hammered his ego somewhat.

  Squeezing the book tightly to his chest, Theron tipped his head to Caine. Then he placed his gaze onto Lyra. “It was my utmost pleasure to see you again, Lyra Magice. I hope we will meet again some day. Maybe we can get acquainted in other more agreeable ways.”

  “Argh, you’re so infuriating,” she grunted clenching her jaw so tight, he swore he could hear her teeth grinding.

  Chuckling, he moved toward the door following the baron.

  “If I may suggest a way to solve this.”

  Theron stopped in the doorway and glanced toward Caine. “I thought we already had.”

  “If what Lyra has told me is true, we really need the translation from your book, Mr. LeNoir. It would help us immensely in solving a string of murders.”

  His gaze moved from Caine to Lyra. She didn’t meet his gaze. She was staring intensely at her boss like she wanted to rip out his tongue.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “That you stay on in Necropolis for a few days and work with Lyra on translating the text and symbols.”

  “What?” Lyra sputtered. “You’ve got to be kidding. There is no way in hell I’m going to work with that man.”

  The vampire swiveled toward her, and arched one brow. “You said it yourself we need that information, Lyra, to catch this guy.”

  “I could’ve been exaggerating.”

  “Were you?” he asked.

  Defeated, she shook her head and glanced at Theron. He saw the anger in her eyes but also the desperation. Surprisingly, his heart did a little convulsion. It actually twitched with the way she was glaring at him.

  He guessed he could stick around for a few days. Maybe he could squeeze in some extracurricular activities while he was here. Activities involving the witch and several uncompromising positions.

  He turned toward the baron. “Would you please book me into your best hotel, Laal? Looks like I’m staying for a few days.”

  “Thank you, Mr. LeNoir.” Caine tipped his head in gratitude.

  “Please call me Theron.” He set the book back down on the table and rubbed his hands together. “When do we get started?”

  Lyra groaned and glancing up to the ceiling, shook her head. “Why me? I was having a pretty good day so far.”

  Caine shook Theron’s hand. “I can assure you working with Lyra will be interesting. But I can’t promise you she’ll behave.”

  Theron grinned. “Oh, that’s perfectly fine with me. I always knew investigative work would be...invigorating.”

  “Oh for Goddess sake.” Lyra tossed up her hands and marched out of the room.

  Theron watched her leave and chuckled to himself. Completely and utterly invigorating.

  Lyra waited in the ladies’ room until Theron had been escorted out, by the baron himself, to the hotel he was going to stay in. Peeking out of the door she watched as Caine came out of the analysis room then jumped out in front of him, already in full argument.

  “Why do we need him to stay on? Can’t you just order him to give us the book?”

  Without breaking stride, Caine shook his head. “Lyra, why are you arguing so vehemently about this? We’ve had other consultants on cases before. You worked with that psychic well, if I remember correctly.”

  “But that was different.”

  Caine arched his elegant brow. “How?”

  “She wasn’t a pompous ass.”

  “You used to think I was a pompous ass.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Oh yes, you did. I remember distinctively the day you called me that in the lab in front of the whole team.”

  Lyra blushed. She actually did remember that day four years ago. But that was before she really got to know Caine.

  “Besides I just finished talking to this Inspector Bellmonte from Nouveau-Monde and he says Theron is quite gifted in magic and in other sensory detection. He could be a valuable resource for us to use on this case. Sometimes an outsider can see past the trees in the forest.”

  Lyra sniffed. “I hate that saying. What does it even mean?”

  Caine stopped in front of his office and gave her that look she hated. The one that said she was being irrational. “It means you should go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow, rested and relaxed and ready to work.”

  She opened her mouth to protest.

  “Good night, Lyra. Have sweet dreams.” Caine stepped into his office and shut the door behind him.

  Huffing, Lyra stomped down the hallway toward the parking garage. She hated that she felt so uptight about Theron being here. The fact she felt territorial about the lab wasn’t lost on her. Six years ago if someone had told her she’d be acting like a lycan with her pack, she would’ve laughed in their face.

  Before she could reach the elevator, Kellen, the ballistics expert, slunk out of his room and leaned against the doorjam, hooking his thumb into his front jeans pocket. He smiled that lazy grin of his as she approached.

  “Hey sugar,” he drawled. “Missed you.”

  “No, you didn’t. You probably didn’t even know I was gone until now.”

  “Oh, I knew.” He ran a finger just under his lips. “When are you and I going to hook up?”

  “Like never.”

  “Why not? I’m a good looking guy. I’m fun.”

  “I don’t date vampires.”

  Leaning forward, he ran his tongue over his fangs. “You should try it. I give a helluva bite.”

  Before Lyra could respond, his pager beeped. He unhooked it from his belt, glanced at it, then set it back. Something in his demeanor changed and he nodded to her no longer as carefree as he usually was. “Later, witchy woman.” And like that he slunk back into
his room.

  Shaking her head, Lyra continued on to the elevator. Give it to the crazy vampire to relieve some of the tensions she was harboring. He was so unabashedly male and flirtatious, nothing he said she took seriously. At least for a moment, she had forgotten about Theron and the way he made her quiver inside in anger—and other ways she didn’t want to name.

  Maybe after a hot shower and some food, the sensation would disappear. She’d wash off the last twelve hours of exhaustion, catch a few hours of sleep, then she’d feel human again, or as close to human as she could get considering her magic-laced genetics.

  Once home, Lyra could barely keep her eyes open. The moment she slid into bed she had thoughts of Theron—his unusual gray eyes and full mouth. Pushing him from her mind, she reminded herself he was an arrogant cad and was not worthy of her carnal thoughts. But as she slowly drifted to sleep, the last thing she envisioned was his elegant face and long lean form. She wondered if he was getting ready for bed and what he was wearing. Did he sleep in the nude?

  Then she dreamed. Of him.

  She stood on a city street, in the middle of the road. It was dark; the only light glowed from two lampposts forming large yellow spotlights on the dark asphalt.

  As she walked, she noticed the flow of the gauzy green dress she wore around her calves and ankles. It was soft against her skin. She wore no shoes, but the road was not rough or cold under her feet.

  She continued to walk, knowing she was looking for someone. Someone who lurked in the shadows along the deserted street.

  Fear did not fill her. Just the intense thump of anticipation sounded in her body. Sweat rolled down her back and her throat was dry. With every step, she knew he was coming to take her. He would soon have her, soft and pliant, in his arms.

  She took another step but froze when she heard something rustling in the dark of the shadows. Had he finally arrived? She vibrated with eagerness. Would he be rough with her? Or gentle? She didn’t care which, as long as he declared her his own.

  Before she could react, a masculine hand wrapped around her arm and she was pulled into the black and slammed up against a brick wall. The impact rattled her a bit but she suffered no pain. Only desire, liquid hot, rippled over her body and pooled at her center. Then he was there, pressing his body against hers, his hot breath coming in ragged pants on her neck as he inhaled her scent.

  Theron had finally come out of the shadows and claimed her.

  She wanted to call out to rejoice, but she barely had time to take a breath before he was on her, nibbling on her neck and caressing her body with his strong hands. At first he was rough, biting at her neck, kneading her breasts, then the stroking became gentle. He alternated between the feelings, driving her mad. A bite, then a kiss. A pinch then a caress. Pain. Pleasure. She became dizzy with the assault of contradictory sensations but she didn’t want him to stop. Here, she didn’t possess any inhibitions.

  Lowering his hands he wrapped them around to her buttocks and lifted her up, pinning her effectively with his body in between her legs. Holding her with one hand, he tore at the fabric of her dress to unveil her breasts. With no time to prepare, he latched onto her flesh with his mouth, teasing her with his tongue.

  She couldn’t breathe as he feasted on her breasts, scraping his teeth against her already inflamed nipples. Jolts of pleasure surged over her, urging gasps from her lips with every rough graze of his teeth. It was delicious torture as he suckled at her breasts. Laving his tongue over her taut peaks, he sucked in one nipple between his lips and rolled it repeatedly.

  The sensation was too much. The pleasure too intense. Lyra pushed at his head, but it was to no avail. He continued to torment her flesh with his mouth. Unable to speak, she tried again to escape his fervent torture, but failed as he moved his other hand around her body to sink his fingers into her wet heat.

  This time she did cry out, as he slid two fingers into her, stretching her, preparing her for more. She wasn’t ready. He was going to fast. Bucking her hips, she tried to nudge him away, but the action only fueled his attempts and prompted him to go faster and deeper.

  Panting and unable to separate one pain from another pleasure, she dug her hand into his hair and pulled. Yanking back, she twisted his face to hers. She needed to see his eyes and tell him to stop.

  But when she jerked his head back, she lost all sense and screamed.

  Half his face was gone, as if melted into the very shadows surrounding them.

  Bolting straight up in bed, Lyra gasped. She had the sheets wrapped in her hands, twisted painfully around her fingers. Sweat covered her brow and upper lip, and soaked the back of her neck just under her hairline.

  Gulping in breath, she slowly let go of the sheets and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. The dream had been so vivid. So much so, her heart thudded like a jackhammer and it wasn’t from fear. Desire ran rampant in her body.

  Once her breathing slowed, Lyra laid back into bed and turned onto her side, bringing her knees up. The ache between her legs would not subside. In her dream, she’d been able to fulfill her deepest desire—being with Theron. Allowing him to take her, she’d surrendered her desire to him. Giving him control of it. Something she’d never be able to do in the real world.

  The thought frightened her to her core. Because even when Theron had been turning into something else, something born of shadows, she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  While sitting in one of the analysis rooms the next day, sweat trickled down Lyra’s chest to pool in her navel. It even beaded on her top lip. Conscious of it, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to hide the evidence by transferring it to the legs of her pants.

  The air in the analysis room was stifling. Or at least to her it was. It could’ve been that Theron was sitting much too close to her for her liking. Every time he shuffled in his chair, his knee brushed against hers, igniting a fresh brew of sparks to zing up and down her body. Images from her dream kept popping into her mind. Theron nestled between her legs. Theron suckling at her breasts.

  Theron shifted, his arm pressing against hers. Another jolt of something she didn’t want to name shot up her arm over her shoulder and zeroed in on her breasts. In seconds, she was out of her chair.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Time for a break.” Lyra paced around the room, conscious of Theron watching her. She stopped and put her hand on her hip, arching her brows in question. “What?”

  “Is it so terrible to work with me?” He leaned back in his chair with a casual air she wished she could convey.

  “Yes.” She continued to pace.

  With a smile, he shook his head. “You are not a very good liar.”

  I guess I don’t have your talent for it. That was what she wanted to say. To sound cool and unaffected by him. But it wouldn’t be true.

  As if privy to her thoughts, his smile widened. Her foot faltered on her next step and she had to put a hand out on the table to stop from stumbling. Lyra had a sudden rush of guilt. Five-year-old guilt. Being with him again like this, casually as if they’d been working together for a long time, brought it all back to her.

  There was just something about the dhampir that elicited certain personality traits in her. She always felt like she was in a battle when she was near him. Her mind and body were in a constant state of war.

  “Five years is a long time,” she blurted out, unclear why she decided it was a good time to bring it up.

  His brow quirked and he stared at her as if he hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was talking about. “It can be.”

  “Don’t look at me as if you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  His lips twitched but he tried to hide it by ducking his head. “Lyra, are you saying that you regret rejecting me all those years ago?”

  “What?” She gaped at him. “No!”

  Eyes wide, he stared at her.

  “Er, I mean, of course not.” Her lips fel
t like balloons and she kept fumbling with them. “What I mean to say is the decision I made was a good one, at the time.”

  “At the time?” He leaned on the table, his beautiful eyes searching her face. “You mean, you wouldn’t make that decision now?”

  “Theron, don’t complicate things.”

  “Chérie,” he reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I believe they already are. You are much too dynamic and have this energy about you that I do not understand. It...you still fascinate me.”

  “Is that just your fancy way of saying I’m a bitch?”

  Theron broke into a fit of laughter. His whole body shook from the effort. It was the first honest emotion she’d seen from him.

  In turn, Lyra’s lips twitched then laughter bubbled out of her. The tension building between them dissipated into thin air. “It feels good to laugh. There hasn’t been much around here to find amusing.”

  Sobering, Theron set his hands flat on the table. “I suppose not, with all the murders occurring.” He rubbed a hand over the page of the book they had been previously deciphering. “And you believe the answers are in here?”

  She met his gaze and nodded.

  “Your killer then must be very familiar with the black arts. There are only six of these books in the world.”

  “Or he has a black witch working for him,” she offered as she came back around the table and sat down.

  “That is possible too.”

  She watched him as he bent down and started to read the text. From the moment she knew he had the book, she wanted to ask him why he possessed a tome that contained dark magic. Her skin crawled every time she touched the pages and read the spells. How could a person keep something like that in his home?

  She hated black magic. It went against everything she believed in and everything she’d been taught, by those she loved, about upholding nature’s balance. To practice the black was to skirt the edges of immorality.

  “Why do you have this book?”

  He didn’t look up right away, but continued to trace his finger along the page of the book. Sighing, he glanced at her. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite read. Something akin to remorse.