by Hall, Linsey
Anyway, she wouldn’t have to worry about steering clear of the other witches because there was no doubt that they’d steer clear of her. Smart. She’d suck the power right out of them and enjoy every second. Oh, they’d regenerate it eventually, but no immortal liked giving up their energy to a soulceress.
It wasn’t like she could help how she collected power, but no one cared about the details when they felt the extra power that made them immortal slipping from their souls. They didn’t actually become mortal, just weaker for a little while as they temporarily lost whatever special ability their species possessed.
She sidled down the bar toward a towering man at the end. “Hey, handsome,” she said, giving him a bold once-over. Not bad, for a mortal.
He returned the gesture, apparently liking what he saw, if his grin was any indication. “Hello, lassie. American, are you? On a bit of vacation?”
She smiled when she heard his rough brogue; he was a local. And a damn fine one, at that. Not that she’d keep him around past tonight. Relationships between mortals and Mytheans always ended in disaster. The life-span differential was a bitch. But he’d do fine for her purposes.
“Sure am.” The lie slipped easily off her tongue. After they’d slept together and he’d chipped away at the despicable block of loneliness sitting in her chest, it would be easier to say she had a flight to catch than to explain that she didn’t date. Mortals eventually died on you. And it hurt. “What do you do?”
What the hell was she doing here?
Warren’s eyes were glued on the entrance to the pub where Esha stood, shaking the rain from her jacket. When she unzipped the leather, she revealed a plain cotton shirt that was too tight for his peace of mind. He swallowed hard and looked away.
Within seconds, his gaze was dragged back to her. She glanced around the pub, her amber eyes bright. She didn’t see him in the darkened corner, and he sat back, no longer intent on leaving.
There was nothing he could do tonight to ensure Aurora wasn’t released, and the idea of twiddling his thumbs at home had been unbearable. He’d come here because he wanted a place to think that was far from the university and devoid of Mytheans.
The White Stag had been fine for all of ten minutes. Then the witches had shown up. Initially, he’d been annoyed. They should be hard at work shoring up the aetherwalls of their prison. But then he’d noticed that they were the youngest witches in the coven. Still in training and likely more of a distraction than a help with difficult spells.
Either way, they ruined the anonymity of the place. As he’d been getting up to leave, Esha had walked in.
Now, his eyes tracked her as she sauntered across the pub toward the bar. He liked the way she walked. It was very her, with her chipped-shoulder, couldn’t-give-a-shite attitude. Her hips swayed in jeans molded to every inch of her. She was tall and lean, all strength and supple muscles that made him think she’d give as good as she got.
He shook his head. Not that it fucking mattered. He couldn’t let it matter. She was hell on his celibacy and peace of mind. Iron control kept him sane. She threatened that, and he did his damnedest to avoid her because of it. He’d been pretty successful for the ten years that she’d been at the university.
Until their work had thrown them temporarily together a month ago. Once, she’d asked him why the signals he sent were so hot and cold. She could see that he wanted her as easily as she could see that he resisted it. And she wanted him back. That day, they’d come so close to kissing that he could still feel the heat of her breath.
But he’d pulled away. He’d been an arse to her when she’d asked why. He’d thrown her species in her face. Blaming his rejection on the fact that she was a soulceress was a lie, but it had come out easily, pushed by the panic over what he felt for her.
He could still remember her words. “Always with the soulcery business. Like I have the fucking plague or something. I really thought you were different, Warren. What’s your problem, anyway? You’re a damned mystery monster. I don’t drain your power, so what have you got against me?”
He hadn’t known how to answer, and his words had only made it worse. He’d hurt her feelings, he knew that much. She’d said that she didn’t need him, that she didn’t need anybody. He’d almost believed it.
Warren snapped out of his memories of the past at the sight of Esha sidling up to another man at the bar. No matter how bad an idea it was, he couldn’t stop himself from becoming jealous. Which was a gods-damned worthless emotion, when everything between them was not only fucked up, it was impossible.
Though Esha lent one ear to the rumbling brogue of the man she’d approached at the bar, her attention was dedicated to scanning the room for enemies. It was a hazard of the job, but she didn’t mind, because it wasn’t like she left any of her assignments living. She smirked at the thought. But they sometimes had partners in crime who’d like to exact a little vengeance, so keeping a wary eye out was just good business.
She felt the smirk slip from her face when her gaze connected with that of a man sitting alone at a table in the corner of the pub.
No way.
Warren. The man she’d wanted for almost the entire ten years she’d been at the university.
Her heart shivered and goose bumps rose on her arms at the sight of him. The light from a cheery fire cast shadows over his harshly beautiful face. His fierce gaze was trained on her—probably had been since she walked in—and she kicked herself for not noticing.
The voice of the man speaking to her became nothing but a buzz. She licked her lips nervously, but managed to lean back against the bar and glare at Warren. What the hell was he doing here?
“Lassie.” The sexy Scot tapped her shoulder and she jerked back to attention, blinking stupidly up at him as her brain returned to the present. She should focus on the hot man who actually liked her, not on the elusive Mythean who treated her like a bug.
Because the mortal doesn’t know what you are.
But as she stared up into his handsome face, she could feel Warren’s gaze burning into her. Impossible to ignore. She really should try to make him jealous, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“I’m sorry. You know—” Shit, she didn’t know the Scot’s name. Whatever. “It was nice talking to you.”
She tried to smile at him, but all she could think about was the man whose gaze continued to light her up from across the room.
She wasn’t going to go over there. Avoiding him had been working out really well for her.
But she felt herself turning and her feet carrying her closer to him, her body weaving around raucous pub patrons. He was like a giant planet and she some puny little moon, helplessly drawn to him.
She’d thought there could be more between them, had wanted there to be. From what she could tell, he kept to himself and focused almost all of his energy on work. Where her isolation was forced on her by others—their loss—his was self-imposed. He was the only person she knew who was more isolated than she; it intrigued her.
And it had been a shitty night. If anything, he would distract her. True, he’d kicked her to the curb less than a month ago, and it had hurt, yet she’d slapped a bandage over that wound. She’d suffered worse.
As she made her way to him, she took in the olive sweater stretched over broad shoulders, which tensed as he watched her.
Good. He tied her up in knots; it should be mutual. His otherworldly stature and confident mien made him stand out among the other pub patrons. Golden hair glinted in the firelight, too angelic for what he was capable of.
It was such a contrast to the dark shadows that always hovered at his feet. They were the shadows of evil deeds, visible only to a soulceress. Normally, she’d only see them on rogues or other evil beings, where they clung like a black mist. But on Warren, they hovered around his ankles, like they couldn’t stick to him.
Why would he have them? Was it because she couldn’t see his soul? She’d heard of some Mytheans who used magic to hide theirs. Be
cause a Mythean’s power originated from his soul, it was closely guarded, even hidden at times.
The whys of his shadows intrigued her. They didn’t mesh with the decent guy she knew him to be. He might be a jerk to her, but overall he was good. Too good to have the shadows.
She sank into the chair across from him, holding his green gaze and propping her feet on the chair closest to him. He was so big she could almost feel the heat of him. At nearly six and a half feet, his head would probably brush the low ceiling of the pub, hitting the decorative copper mugs that hung from it.
“So, boss, what brings you here?” she asked, her eyes racing over his face, taking in the features that had haunted her dreams. A strong jaw, full lips, and a loaded gaze. It was a face that had seen a lot of bad. The shadows that hovered around his feet were sometimes reflected in his eyes. She didn’t know what he’d done to get those shadows, but she wanted to.
“No’ your boss, Esha.”
Right. Thanks for the reminder. She was only a consultant, not a full member of his team. She was powerful enough that no one wanted her working against them—hence the invitation to join the university staff and eventually his department, the Praesidium—but her method of collecting the magical energy that fed her power made everyone loath to include her as an actual team member. Not that she cared, of course.
“Semantics.” She sipped her beer and looked at him over the rim of her glass. His expression was unreadable, nearly unwelcoming. But she hadn’t made a mistake in coming over here; she didn’t make mistakes.
“What’s with all the Mytheans in a mortal pub?” she asked. He ranked higher than she did, so maybe he’d know.
He shrugged. “What’s your reason?”
“Here? I come here all the time.” She gestured to the crowd behind her. “Easy pickings.”
A disgusted sigh escaped his strong throat. “To replenish your power from unwitting victims?”
She ignored the disgust. She had to, to survive. “Please. Mortals don’t have enough to speak of.”
It was one of the reasons she usually slept with them instead of the immortal Mytheans. Her unconscious power collection didn’t cause mortals the shivery sense of powerlessness that Mytheans felt in her presence. What felt like a hit of glorious energy to her felt like a siphoning of strength for any immortal with whom she came into contact.
Except for Warren.
“So, why is it that I never feel your power? You don’t have enough to speak of?” she asked.
Everyone hated her for something she couldn’t control, but he was the only one who didn’t like her out of spite, because he wasn’t even affected by her.
He shrugged again, but she saw a flicker in his eyes.
“You know why I can’t feel the power of your soul, but you won’t tell me. Cat got your tongue?” She snickered and looked at the shadow that was the Chairman, lounging on a chair next to her.
“There’s no’ a fae’s chance in hell I’m going to tell you.”
She frowned as she searched his eyes for any hint, but saw nothing. “Does it have anything to do with the fact that you have shadows that don’t stick to you?”
His eyes iced over, but still, she swore they beckoned. She was clearly mad, but she couldn’t help herself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She shivered. She was pushing him, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was a mystery that she’d wanted to solve since she’d met him. “You know, you’re pretty much the only one at the university who has shadows. You’re different.”
Their place of employment was committed to maintaining balance between the heavens and the hells and to protecting earth. Someone evil wouldn’t give a damn about keeping the power balance. So if Warren wasn’t evil, why did he have shadows?
CHAPTER THREE
“You know nothing of my soul.” Warren’s fists clenched.
But she did, he realized. Not the details, but the cocky soulceress sitting across from him saw enough to know that he’d done such monstrous things that if he still had his soul, it would be as black and empty as space. All the attempts at atonement in the world weren’t going to wash him clean.
“I think that no matter what you said before, you want me,” she said. “You’ve been watching me since I walked in here.”
True, his subconscious whispered, as her gaze caught and held his. Her eyes captured him. Not merely their shape and color, but what swirled within them. Something unidentifiable, but familiar. Like a window not only into her soul, but into himself as well. Except that he had no way to decipher their contents, no context for the messages they might send. He knew little of her except that she was brave and brash—a cocky mercenary who took no prisoners and asked questions later.
“I want any hot pieces of ass that I see.” His tone was harsh, the words a lie. Such a ridiculous lie, but pushing her away was the only way to keep himself sane.
Esha was the one he thought about at night.
“Maybe,” she said, and leaned back in her chair.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I already told you that.”
“No, you dinna. You changed the subject. Why are you here at my table? You were mad as hell last time we spoke.” He’d been an arse then, for the same reason he was being one now.
“How insightful of you to notice.”
“Just being honest.”
She laughed. “Honest that you don’t like what I am. Here’s the thing, though, that doesn’t bother me since I know that you want me. No Mythean likes my species, so why should you be any different? And it’s not like I want much from you. Just a distraction.”
The smile she gave him told him exactly what kind of distraction she was looking for, and gods, he was tempted. Though her tone was confident, he thought he could see a shadow of something in her eyes that belied the claim that she didn’t care. He hated that she expected so little of others. So little for herself.
Gods, she was probably as fucked up as he was. It made him feel less alone.
These were dangerous thoughts. He surged to his feet and skirted the table toward the door. “I’m leaving. Have a good night.”
“Good idea.” Her voice came from behind him.
She was following him outside.
The pub was small, and they were out the door in seconds. Wind and rain pelted them as he grabbed her arm and swung her into the small alley to the left of the entrance.
He pressed her up against the wall in the darkness and growled, “Why are you following me?”
“How do you know I wasn’t heading home?” She pushed at him, then clutched at his sweater, as if she couldn’t make up her mind what she wanted from him.
The darkly sensual scent of her pushed through the wet stone smell of the city and coiled around him, reached inside of him, and tugged. So foreign, the smell of a woman this close. Dim street light glinted off coal-black hair and amber eyes. She laced a spell around him. It was the only explanation for his obsession.
He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that he should look away. Walk away. But he couldn’t. The unfamiliar touch of another, something he’d gone without for so long, kept him still. He wanted her touch, her softness, her warmth, so badly that he ached.
In the darkness behind his closed lids, he felt her finger drag over his lips. His cock swelled until it was achingly hard and he barely stopped himself from sucking her finger into his mouth, so desperate was he to taste her.
He hadn’t had a woman in so long he’d forgotten how they felt. But that was the point. The forgetting. The simplicity of a life that helped him forget the things that he’d done and that had been done to him. She offered a release from the self-imposed iron cage of control that kept his demons at bay. But he shouldn’t want that release.
“I doona want you.” His voice was ragged, his shaft thrusting painfully against his fly.
He opened his eyes to see her smiling at him, a devious grin that indicated she recognized his lie.
“No, you don’t want to want me because of what I am. That’s very different from not wanting me.”
One of her kind had stolen his soul and made him a monster. He shouldn’t want her. He shouldn’t like her. He shouldn’t feel at all, not if he wanted to keep the demons of his past from howling until his mind cracked.
Good feelings—like those associated with being near her—gave context for bad. His rigidly self-enforced control led to its own kind of peace, which he desperately needed.
Esha fucked with all of that. He should turn around and walk away. Now.
Instead, he leaned closer, his mouth hovering a hairsbreadth from hers. He wanted to be close to her, just for a second. Just long enough to know what it would feel like to be with her. So that he could pull out the memory in the dark loneliness of the night.
Her breath feathered over his lips and he gripped her hips, reveling in the feel of her beneath his hands. She was hot and soft against him and smelled so good that his mind—
“Oh, check it out.” A giggling voice filtered into the alley.
The sound of laughing witches disappeared down the street, but rational thought snapped back into place, cold as the Arctic. He pushed away.
“What?” Confusion and lust clouded her eyes as they searched his face. “Why’d you stop?”
Warren’s breath heaved out of his lungs as his mind scrambled to understand what he’d almost done. “Because it’s a bad fucking idea. You’re a damned power leech. A mercenary who’s spent decades selling your loyalty to whoever pays the most.”
The words were true, but too harsh. He’d said them to remind himself of what she was and why he shouldn’t want her. With Aurora nearly on the loose, he couldn’t be distracted by Esha.
Comprehension cleared the confusion from her eyes. Hurt and anger followed. Her jaw hardened. “Fuck you, Warren. I came here for a lay. I figured you were just as good as the next guy. It’s not often that I get to fuck a Mythean.”
Jealousy tore through him at the idea of her with another, but he crushed it. “I’m the only immortal you canna destroy and I’m no’ interested. Go find yourself a mortal to play with.”