“And it’s an even better thing your husband remembers a useful little device known as a cell phone,” the old woman said, with a hint of an Irish lilt in her voice. “Thanks to him, I was able to scrape together some clothes for Akane. Am I saying that right, dear? Although I may have to ask Siobhan or one of the other teenagers for a pair of jeans, you’re such a wee thing. Female red witches tend to be broad in the beam, and we’re all red witches around here, to some extent. By the way,” she added, extending her hand to Akane but pointedly glaring at Paul, “I’m Roslyn Donovan, Paul’s great-aunt.”
Paul groaned. “One of several. Possibly dozens. A lot, in any case. I can’t keep track myself and I don’t expect you to. And the other one’s Portia, my sister. My twin sister—hence the telepathy and also the teasing.” Portia, who was quite as attractive as Paul, stuck out her tongue at Paul and her hand for Akane.
Only Roslyn hadn’t released Akane’s hand.
Roslyn was studying her.
For all the ordinary, casual familial teasing, this wasn’t a normal family. This was a witch family. The old woman hid her power better than Paul did, but Akane felt magic vibrating in that frail old hand.
Portia, like Paul, wore her power openly, like an ornament to her beauty—and she, too, was probing.
The old woman spoke first. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said. “What an awful thing to do to a wild spirit like yours! I’d hug you, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t like that much.”
“The thought’s appreciated,” Akane said. “But what I need most…”
“Is a shower and clean clothes and a nap, not necessarily in that order,” Portia broke in. Akane wouldn’t venture a guess whether it was telepathy or one woman sympathizing with another’s discomfort. “Let’s get her settled in, Auntie Roslyn. Guys?”
“They’ll catch up with you girls later,” Roslyn said in a way that brooked no argument.
Paul literally hung his head, but Tag planted a kiss on the wrinkled old cheek. “Oh, Auntie R, relax. Paul and I will debrief you and the whole family later, but we need to find out more first about how to solve Akane’s problem.”
“You’ll let the young lady relax a while first, boys, while you have a nice cup of tea with me and your mother and tell me what’s going on.”
As Portia led her away to the guest cabin, Akane heard the two men saying “Yes, Auntie R,” like boys trying to talk their way out of trouble.
She chuckled under her breath. Some things didn’t change across centuries and cultures. Witch men and, in this era, young witch women, might go out into the world and make a big splash with their magic and their good looks, but the matriarchs ran the powerful clans and kept their men out of trouble.
Pity sorcerers didn’t have the same system. Maybe Hiro would have controlled his anger better if he’d had to answer to his mama for his magical overkill.
Or maybe his mother would have come after Akane herself and done something even nastier. She’d be willing to bet the Donovan women, kind and welcoming as they were, would offer a different face to someone who hurt one of the family.
Alone in the cabin, Akane shucked her offensive clothes. She stretched, luxuriating in privacy and nudity.
Then she sat cross-legged on the wood floor. For a few minutes, she simply breathed in the peace of the tranquil space. She let her thoughts scamper where they would, while she focused on an image of a snow-capped mountain. Even a child of Trickster needed to meditate sometimes, to help her find her way back to the simplicity of a wild thing when the clever brain that was usually a blessing made things unnecessarily complicated. Living on the streets had afforded her little opportunity. And her thoughts were far too excited, jumping ahead madly to the prospect of freedom from the curse without letting her appreciate where she was: safe, warm and in the care of good mortals with powerful magic.
Meditation, though, could hold a fox’s attention for only so long. Once her racing thoughts were a bit calmer, curiosity got the better of her, and she simply had to explore her surroundings.
The cabin was small, meant for visitors rather than permanent residents, but it had everything one would need for a short stay. The main room contained a small table that would double as a work space and a dining area, a cozy, rather battered loveseat, an overstuffed chair and both a conventional bed and—to Akane’s delight—a futon. There was no stove, only a pint-sized refrigerator, but she’d noticed a grill on a side deck. The uncluttered décor—pale wood and ocean shades of blue and aqua, accented with a few photographs of the magnificent local scenery—appealed to her.
But what appealed most was the bathroom. In contrast to the otherwise simple cabin, the bathroom was opulent, with obviously hand-made tiles on the walls, three shower heads, a heated towel rack and its own separate heater to make it toasty. Someone had provided a nice selection of bath products, and Portia had left a clean sweater and jeans on top of a hamper and even hung a soft terry cloth bathrobe on the door.
Akane threw that on, flung the cabin door open, and tossed her foul clothes out onto the step. They already smelled stale. Once she was clean, she was sure they’d stink even worse by contrast.
Then she headed into the much-anticipated shower.
Akane soaped herself up with honey-scented soap, trying to enjoy the pleasures of the moment and not speculate on the red magic that might transform her back to her rightful form.
The red magic and the men who’d work it for her, because her mind and her body refused to speculate about Paul without including Tag as well, or vice versa. That was one lesson she’d learned long ago. Luckily, they both drew her: Paul with his potent magic, Tag with his foxside, both of them with their beauty.
Would they lie on either side of her and drive her mad with hands and tongue, caresses and licks and nibbles before one thrust into her pussy and the other into her mouth?
She pictured Tag between her legs, fucking her hard, lifting her off the bed with his thrusts. Paul would kneel over her so his cock was in her face, and he’d feed it to her, holding it with both hands.
Or maybe they’d sandwich her between them, one fucking her pussy, the other her ass. Oh, could she be lucky enough that the magic would require that particular sacrifice? With most men, that configuration was too awkward and clumsy for pleasure, but Tag and Paul would know how to move together, know how to work together to their mutual satisfaction. And she’d bet they were far more practiced at anal sex than most men who played exclusively with women would be.
Her soapy hands lingered at her nipples, tugging, then circling, then tugging again, sending waves of sensation to her throbbing sex. She all but felt two cocks invading her—no, transforming her, as if they were colliding in that hard, cold place inside her where the curse lived and shattering it.
Maybe Paul would need both her and Tag to focus on him and help him build the power he needed to break the curse.
Oh, wouldn’t that be a sweet sight, to watch Tag expertly suck Paul’s cock or offer himself up for fucking? Or maybe he’d do the fucking. Paul might be a powerful witch, but Tag was a strong personality in his own right. She wasn’t going to make any assumptions about what worked for the magic, or who might be more dominant in the bedroom. Or if they cared one way or the other, for that matter. Ordinary humans might get hung up about that sort of thing, but magical people were less likely to.
For her, either mental image was fine—as long as she got to play too in some fashion.
She glided one hand down her body to her aching clit.
She desperately wanted something inside her. Not her fingers, though. She’d been restricted to her own fingers for far too long. Now, with two handsome men almost in reach, she’d wait.
Wait, and dream, and stroke herself to orgasm in a way that wasn’t as satisfying as a cock inside her, but would do for the moment.
As she came, all the dirty, beautiful, tangled images in her mind resolved to a picture of Tag and Paul kissing, not lightly and playfully like th
ey had several times in front of her, but with complete abandon. Utter trust, utter love, utter desire.
That image, rather than the ones involving thrusting cocks and questing hands, finally brought her off.
Chapter Four
The men showed up at dusk, bearing a feast of Dungeness crab, ravioli filled with winter squash, a bottle of Pinot Gris from an Oregon vineyard, and a crusty loaf of bread still hot from the oven. She’d intended to start talking—or better yet, to seduce them and get the magic started—as soon as they walked in the door, but the food broke her resolve. Even when she had no need to eat, she loved the flavor of crab and the giggle-inducing effects of wine—and these days she needed to eat.
Paul and Tag didn’t make it any easier by proving to be charming company who drew her into flirtatious yet not entirely frivolous conversation that distracted her from her troubles for a while.
Although looking at the two of them could do that to some extent—so pretty and so much in love, and yet so attentive to her.
It wasn’t until an hour or so later that a replete, slightly tipsy, somewhat amorous and more than a little desperate Akane licked each of her fingers, slowly and sensuously. It removed the last of the crab and butter, but more to the point, it made sure both men’s eyes were riveted on her.
“About this curse,” she said. “I’m eager to get rid of it, especially since it seems like the process will be…most enjoyable.”
She climbed onto Paul’s lap and kissed him.
His arms closed around her as if by reflex, and his lips parted under hers.
But only for a moment before Paul very gently nudged her off his lap, like a man might do to a persistent pet. “Not so fast, Akane. It’s not that simple. We will see to it that your curse is lifted, but we need to talk.”
She wanted to cry, scream, pout and do any number of other childish, undignified human things.
Then she ran through ways to trick Paul and Tag into doing what she wanted. It would certainly be challenging. Paul was telepathic, and it was hard to tell a telepath an outright lie. Tag was enough of a kindred spirit that he’d figure out what she was up to if she, oh, offered to rub the men’s backs or asked for a massage herself or pretended to feel faint or any of the other time-honored ways for luring a man into touching you. Once touching started, in her experience, the rest was easy. She’d have to come up with something exceptionally clever to bamboozle the two of them, something so outrageous Inari, trickster god/goddess of rice and foxes, would laugh in Heaven.
Except Inari wouldn’t laugh. Akane had lost Inari’s favor two centuries ago, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t win it back by tricking a couple who wanted to help her, but in their own time.
As she realized that, she also realized she’d risked lowering herself in their eyes by being overly pushy. Were she and either man pursuing a simple flirtation to its natural conclusion, being playfully demanding might work. But she wasn’t flirting. She was petitioning. Paul was a mortal of extraordinary power, far more powerful than she was in her cursed form. He should be approached with dignity.
She composed herself into a kneeling position, not in supplication, but because it was how she was accustomed to sitting in human form. “Then we shall talk. Forgive my impatience, Paul-san, but it’s been over two hundred years since I held my tails proud or walked on four paws, or became one with the moonlight. Two hundred years I’ve been solid.” She tried to put the horror of solidity into the innocuous word, not sure a mortal, even a witch or a dual, could understand. “I will do your bidding in all ways necessary to free myself from this curse.” As she said it, she couldn’t help thinking of the ways a man might take advantage of her offer—that she couldn’t help hoping they’d take advantage of it—and felt herself flushing like a human. “But it is difficult to be patient when I can almost taste the end to my solidity.”
The fox looked puzzled until Paul explained, “Kitsune are like the fae. They don’t have to be corporeal unless they want to be and, while they can be killed or choose to fade if they weary of living, they don’t die of natural causes.”
“But there are so many wonderful things you can do when you’re corporeal,” Tag said. That smooth-as-honey accent of his made her shiver. It didn’t take any magic to know exactly what he was thinking.
Most fair-haired men looked not quite cooked to Akane, whose taste in human beauty was formed in Japan. But redheads? Redheads, especially sharp-featured ones like this Tag, appealed to her fox spirit as well as her human seeming.
And this one might be safe for her. Might be more than merely safe—might be her salvation. She smiled in a way she hadn’t for twenty decades. “There are benefits to having a body, but I’ve had only limited chances to enjoy them for a long time. Part of the curse is that I can harm a normal human man, even kill him, if I lie with him.”
Tag looked downright alarmed and twitched as if he wanted to cross his hands in his lap to protect his groin.
“Kitsune always have that power against normies,” Paul said, “but it’s a choice.”
“One we rarely exercise,” Akane stressed. “There are men who need to be punished. If a man abuses the land, or women and children, or uses his cock as a weapon instead of a gift…”
Tag graced her with a predator’s dangerous smile. His teeth were sharper than the human norm, or perhaps he’d changed them to something more foxlike to make a point. “Then killing him that way is comedy!”
“Taggart.” Paul’s voice was low and controlled, but the way he spoke his lover’s name—and the way Tag kept grinning—told her volumes about their relationship. Tag was a rogue, Paul the gentleman trying to civilize him, all the while hoping it wouldn’t work too well.
She understood Tag. Two centuries as a human hadn’t smoothed the wildness from her soul.
But the magic that pulsed off Paul was what gave her hope. Without him, the gorgeous fox might ease her heart and her body for a little while, but that was all she could hope for. Together, they might give her back her life.
That thought—and the thought of the means they’d use—made her impatient as any human without eternity at her disposal.
“What remains to discuss?” she asked, trying to get them back on target without sounding like a nag. “Ask me anything and I’ll answer. I’m eager to get started.” Nervous, she had to force a sensual giggle. “The bed’s a bit small, but I’m sure we can be creative.”
Paul put his hands on her shoulders in a way that felt both intimate and brotherly. “I’m sorry, Akane. I wasn’t clear earlier, and that’s why we need to talk. We came here to Donovan’s Cove to find someone who can help you. I’m not permitted to work the magic you need. Tag and I are married. This benighted state may not recognize it yet, but the Powers do. For what it’s worth,” he added, “I’m sorry to have misled you.”
And not just for that, she sensed, using nothing but human senses and ancient intuition. He obviously wasn’t sorry to be married—it was clear how much he loved Tag—but he was sorry, on a purely carnal level, that he could not work that very physical brand of magic with her. The American phrase “married, not dead” applied.
If it were only lovemaking in question, she’d smile regretfully and move on. Her instincts would tell her to try to seduce him anyway, but she knew better. Now.
If the magic were as straightforward as he seemed to think, she’d tease that she hoped he had a brother or cousin as handsome as he was.
But there was nothing simple about the situation.
“Please reconsider,” she said, letting all the long years of humiliation and pain resonate in her voice. “It is not only you I need, Paul Donovan. Hiro, the one who cursed me, told me that I would be free only if I did red magic with a male of my own kind, and in all the years of my wandering, Tag is the closest I’ve found.’”
“I don’t have magic, darlin’,” Tag said regretfully. “I just follow around Witch-Boy here because he’s too damn pretty to let out alone. And becau
se he can’t drive—shhh, don’t let him know I told you that.” Despite the intense turn the conversation had been taking, Paul took a second to punch his lover playfully on the arm.
“Liar.”
“Admit it. You can’t drive. Half the time you can’t even see cars because they don’t have auras.”
“That’s no lie,” Paul admitted. “The lie is you not being magic. You don’t do magic, but something about you makes my red magic a hundred times stronger. Akane has magic of her own, although it’s trapped by the curse. Maybe it would work.”
“Maybe it would,” Tag and Akane said simultaneously.
“But I can’t…”
“You could try,” Paul said reluctantly. “She’s suffering. We need to try to lift the curse. And just because Donovan custom says I have to be monogamous doesn’t mean you do. We’re monogamous to protect our magic, but since you don’t have magic of your own, I guess it would be safe for you.”
“I can’t.” Tag’s voice was firm. “I’m sorry, Akane. I’d like to help you. Believe me, if I were a single man I’d be beggin’ to help you. But I won’t hurt Paul that way, and it will hurt him, even if he’s volunteering me now.”
“It’s all right, Tag. Our bond’s strong. We’ll work through it. It’s not right to leave this poor kitsune with a curse on her because I’m insecure.”
The raw pain in their voices brought back a torrent of bitter memories for Akane. Memories that were over two centuries old, but still hurt like fresh wounds.
“Stop!” she said. “You two can’t sacrifice what you have for me. I may not have all my powers in this form, but I don’t need them to see how much you love each other. I won’t come between that.”
Chapter Five
Shame filled her—it still surprised her, after two centuries, how deep shame ran in one whose kind was often called shameless—but she made herself go on. “It’s how I found myself in this fix in the first place, not taking the bond between two men seriously enough.”
Foxes' Den Page 2