Of Fear and Faith: A Witch and Shapeshifter Romance (Death and Destiny Trilogy Book 1)

by N. D. Jones

  Did he just sniff the air? Yes, the agent had actually just lifted his chin and sniffed…at him?

  “I don’t like liars, Houghton.” Another sniff. “And you”—a third sniff— “smell of lies, secrets, and”—a fourth sniff— “something else.”

  Something else? No way could he smell that. Unless…

  Richard maintained his blank expression and sturdy posture until the agent opened and closed the door behind him. He collapsed, the chair catching him. But there was no comfort there, just cold, stiff leather.

  Yes, Agent Berber was dangerous indeed. Lethal. If he ever found out. Richard slumped deeper into the chair, unwilling to think what the man would do to him.

  But I’m not defenseless. Not some meek, little math geek that can be bullied into submission by the big, bad FBI agent.

  Richard sat up. No, he wasn’t helpless, and Sanura didn’t belong to the arrogant agent. And if Berber thought that macho bullshit would work with a woman like Sanura…well, that showed how little the agent knew the witch. He doesn’t know her at all.

  But Richard bet the agent thought he could protect her, and Sanura was, after all, due for a lesson. He could do that. I’ll show them both.

  Richard smiled, the headache beginning to subside. Soon it would be gone, sated, until the next time. There was always a next time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Warily, Sanura approached her mother’s home after seeing Assefa’s silver Mercedes-Benz parked in front of the house. She wondered if there’d been another murder. Gods, she hoped not. Expecting the worst, she let herself in, dropping her satchel in a corner of the foyer.

  To her surprise, she heard laughter coming from the dining room. Sanura followed the sound of her mother’s laughter only to find Assefa sitting at the head of the table, her mother to the right of him. Samuel Williams’ chair. No one has sat in that spot since Dad’s death, not Mike and certainly not Richard.

  “There she is, the other half of my heart,” Sanura heard her father say, an old memory that haunted and hurt. “Your mother once claimed the organ as her own, but she had to relinquish half of it when you were born. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have two beautiful fire witches taking such good care of me. Well, don’t just stand there, give your mother and me a hug, make a plate for yourself, and then tell us about your day.”

  Sanura pushed back the tears that threatened whenever she thought of her father. It had been three years since his death, the pain of his passing still ripe, still raw. The slow breath she took in was necessary to calm her pounding heart.

  Assefa noticed her first, standing when Sanura fully entered the dining room. Although, being a were-cat, she knew he’d had to sense her long before she’d approached. Then she wondered about the acuity of his senses, trying to gauge the strength of the beast within the man. And there was plenty of strength there. So much power it strums along his aura, a thick, resounding vibration. And his smell, so damn tempting.

  “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Assefa pulled the chair to his left out for her, his words forcing Sanura’s mind off of him and back to the realization that her mother had allowed Assefa to occupy her deceased husband’s favorite chair.

  “Well, that makes two of us.” Sanura gave her mother a look she hoped expressed her level of irritation with her interfering.

  Her mother smiled prettily. “I invited Assefa to dinner.” Makena’s innocent smile and tone were wasted on Sanura. “You rarely visit during the workweek and Assefa has no family in town, so I thought we could share a meal and get to know each other better. Did you know Assefa has an M.A. in biochemistry and just earned his doctorate in criminal justice?”

  Sanura returned her mother’s smile while cursing Makena’s obvious attempt at playing matchmaker. The woman could smooth talk a jury, deescalate a family feud in her courtroom without raising her voice, the use of magic, or the aid of a deputy sheriff, but Judge Williams couldn’t begin to spell the word subtle.

  “No, but I suspect there’s quite a bit about our agent I don’t know.”

  “You only have to ask, Sanura. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I don’t want to erect barriers between us, but the ritual is necessary before more delicate details can be freely shared.”

  Sanura nodded. She knew that of course, she knew. The ritual came first. Secrets. Their kind always kept secrets. They had to be so damn careful. Couldn’t let the full-humans know. But she had let one know her secret. Richard. Damn him.

  “I’ll be right back.” Sanura walked to the powder room to wash her hands before sitting down to join Makena and Assefa for dinner. Everything looked and smelled good. Her mother was an excellent cook. Too bad Sanura hadn’t inherited her mother’s culinary skills. Because being able to heat up microwaveable meals did not count as cooking. It barely counted as preparation.

  “So,” she said to Assefa, taking the plate Makena had filled for her. “Thanks, Mom. Tell me about your doctoral program. What was your dissertation topic?”

  For the first time since meeting Assefa, Sanura relaxed completely in his company, freely discussing topics she couldn’t with a full-human male. Assefa was widely read, possessing a wealth of knowledge from the mundane to the obscure, and to her surprise, a dry wit. He was charming to be sure, but not shallow. And he seemed not to notice exactly how even more attractive and appealing he became when he allowed himself to loosen up. But Sanura noticed, finally granting herself permission to give in to the hard-to-deny energy that flowed between them.

  She wanted to lay the entire sorry situation with Richard to rest. Yet it kept popping up at the most inconvenient times, preventing her from letting go and moving on. Well, she had let go of Richard. It had taken her some time, but she no longer loved him. Sanura didn’t want to be with him. She’d proven that to herself today.

  He was wrong for you. But who was right? A were-cat? Assefa? Only one is ever right, Sanura, you know how it works. Yes, she did. So did the man with the warm, chocolate eyes laughing at something Makena had just said. If nothing else, Sanura thought, pretending to be paying attention to the conversation and not simply enjoying watching Assefa Berber shed his FBI mask. The man is walking cotton candy. Sanura smiled at another joke she’d missed and wondered if she was ready to take a bite out of Assefa’s sugary goodness, knowing any cavity she got would be so much worse than anything she’d experienced with Richard. Because she could easily see herself falling—hard and heavy—for Assefa Berber. And that sobering thought scared the hell out of her.

  Twenty minutes after dessert, ndizi kaanga, made with fried plantains, lemon juice, nutmeg, and brown sugar, Makena cleared the table, refusing the offer of assistance from Sanura and Assefa.

  When she rejoined them, Makena gave Assefa and Sanura a look that was more calculating than cunning. “I’m off to bed, you two. I’m finally going to read Their Eyes Were Watching God. That book’s been sitting on my dresser for a month gathering dust. Richard Wright once said of the book, ‘The sensory sweep of Zora Neale Hurston’s novel carries no theme, no message, no thought. In the main, her novel is not addressed to the Negro, but to a white audience whose chauvinistic tastes she knows how to satisfy.’ Well,” she said, throwing a sly grin over her shoulder as she started to leave the dining room, “I intend to put a little Sweet Honey in the Rock on, read about Janie Mae Crawford and determine for myself if Wright’s criticism of the discussion of race and the use of black dialect in the work was overly critical or an astute analysis.”

  Sanura could only shake her head. Makena’s words reminded her too much of an African American lit class she’d taken senior year in college. Makena never failed to amaze Sanura. Her mother’s intelligence and near-photographic memory, depending on how and on whom she used them, were gifts to be treasured or irritations to be endured.

  She watched Makena exit the room and make a right. The hallway led to the stairs that would take Makena to the second level and to her bedroom. Two minutes later, a solidly
shut door was heard, a door that never required that much force to close.

  After the clear dramatics, they moved to the living room, Sanura acutely aware there was no third person for her to play off of. Then the guilt came. She’d ignored it all evening, but with Assefa’s sweet, brown eyes gazing down at her, Sanura had to say, “I’m sorry about today. You drove all the way from Baltimore to pay me a visit, and we didn’t even have time to talk before we were interrupted.” She really didn’t want to rehash the uncomfortable moment in the lecture hall, but she also didn’t want Richard hanging between them either. Whatever was happening between them—and, yes, something was happening—Sanura wanted, no needed, Assefa to understand that Richard no longer mattered.

  “No need to apologize. I had a status meeting with my division chief in DC, and College Park is almost around the corner. I should be the one to apologize for showing up unannounced and expecting you to drop everything to have a bite to eat with me.”

  Calm. Flatly stated.

  “Lunch would’ve been nice, but still—”

  Assefa waved another apology away and made his way to the front door, grabbing his suit jacket off the coat hook once he reached the foyer. He slid into the fine garment; the movement graceful yet quick.

  He didn’t seem upset, but the good humor he’d displayed earlier was gone, the beginnings of that damn mask reforming and slipping back into place. Walls. Sanura hated them. Helped her patients dismantle them. Hell, she had her own. Yet the wall Assefa was so carefully constructing bothered her.

  She’d followed him to the door. “Since you refuse my apology, at least let me take you to dinner tomorrow. Have you been to the Inner Harbor?”

  “I haven’t had time to take in Charm City, too busy trying to catch that damn adze and too tired to do anything other than sleep on my days off.”

  “Good, then I’ll be happy to show you downtown Baltimore, avoiding the strip clubs, of course. Unless you’re into that type of thing,” she teased, hoping to break through his wall. His shocked expression told her she’d scored a direct hit. “You aren’t the only one who can—”

  He kissed her.

  Spontaneous and shocking, it momentarily left Sanura paralyzed, unresponsive.

  But as his soft lips gently caressed hers, her lower brain functions finally took over, compelling Sanura to return the unexpected—but so damn nice—kiss. It was a short, undemanding kiss, serving more to test the waters than to ignite a flame. But he tasted so good, much better than any man had a right to. Spice and mint mingled in an exotic cocktail of irresistible were-cat maleness.

  Assefa leaned further into her and placed a kiss on her cheek as he’d done on the front porch two weeks ago. Then he trailed those plump, sensuous lips down her neck and deeply inhaled.

  Sanura’s hands flew to his waist and pulled him closer with each maddening lungful he took of her. And he took many deep, arousing breaths that sent an electrical charge cascading through Sanura’s body, settling in her core—heavy and hot.

  “You still smell wrong,” he finally said, head tucked in the crook of her neck, hot breath inviting more than a verbal response. “I need to know what the real you smells like.” Not quite a demand but neither a plea.

  “That’s part of the ritual.” She nearly moaned the words as the intensity of their auras so close together increased with every second they stayed in each other’s arms. Made worse or better, depending on how she looked at it, each time his tantalizing lips found her pulsing neck.

  Basking in their shared energy, she whispered, “Let me see the eyes of your inner cat?” Her tone was an echo of his earlier request, neither plea nor demand, but an indescribable need.

  He pulled her even closer to him as if they could get any closer while fully clothed. Another deep intake of breath, and then a slow release before his husky voice said, “That’s also part of the ritual, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart? Was that a slip? Or had their relationship just gone from idling to second gear? More importantly, why did it flow so naturally from his lips and sound so wonderful to her ears?

  Not yet ready to release her, Assefa absorbed the magical energy swirling between them for a few seconds longer, wanting nothing more than to give in to his cat’s desire to claim, to take, to mark. But that wasn’t his way, not the way of the man. And for him, the man was always in control. “How much longer, Sanura?” He slid his hands into his pockets, so he wouldn’t touch her again. If he did… “How much longer do I have to wait before we perform the ritual to confirm our biological compatibility?”

  “The next full moon.”

  “There will be a full moon one week from tomorrow.”

  “I know,” she said, the anxious smile that followed a pleasant surprise.

  Sanura was different tonight, he’d noticed, more relaxed and comfortable. He’d been taking it slow, not wanting to scare her with his overpowering need to be near her. So, he decided to simply enjoy flirting and getting to know the mind doctor. He was making slow progress, today’s impromptu visit to her academic lair a test of his patience and her receptivity.

  Then there had been the unexpected arrival of Dr. Richard Houghton. Richard, he assumed, being the “dickhead” Mike had told him about. The man was fit, built like a swimmer, long, gangly arms that housed strength and endurance. He could also be considered handsome, Assefa supposed, if women went for the angular jaw and dimpled chin look. Obviously, Sanura had.

  It had taken all of his self-control to leave the lecture hall, his inner cat goading him to mark his territory and destroy the challenger. So, the man had walked away. But the cat—yes, the hunter—returned, finding its prey alone and vulnerable.

  “After the handfasting ritual, and after we’ve captured the adze, I want us to take some time to get to know each other.” He opened the door for them. They walked out of the house and to his car. “I don’t need a ritual to tell me we have a biological connection, or that the gods have already decided we complement each other. Even with that, Sanura, we have our own free will. If we decide to begin a relationship, I want it to be because we want to be together, not because biology or the gods say we should be together.”

  She’s made for me. He hadn’t meant to say those words to Houghton, but it was all he could do to stop himself from ripping into the lying bastard. And Richard Houghton was most definitely a liar. He’d lied about having a date with Sanura tonight, and Assefa couldn’t help but wonder what other lies the man was capable of. What secrets the good doctor held within his mathematical mind. I’ll find out. Know them all.

  Then there was the scent of the man. Something more than human lingered in his pores. This the cat in him knew. But what? I’ll find that out, too. In a few days, I’ll know all there is to know about Dr. Richard Houghton.

  Assefa was too good of an agent to delude himself into believing that the investigation he’d begin as soon as he returned home was business instead of personal. Everything with this woman, this witch, was personal. She’s made for me. Yes, she was.

  Assefa drew her to him again, and Sanura casually placed her arms around his neck. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before, Sanura. I feel a loss of self-control when I’m with you. It feels as if my emotions are in overdrive. I’m used to order and logic and nothing about this feels logical, but it feels damn right. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

  Sanura stroked the back of his head and neck, intensifying the flood of energy hurdling through him. “I do understand. I can tell you everything there is to know about the ritual from a purely factual and intellectual perspective, but nothing more. When it comes to practical experience, I’ll be in uncharted territory, the same as you. My parents shared their ritual experience with me, but they also told me each couple’s experience is unique to the two of them. I can guide us through the technical phases, but the emotional part will have to be dealt with as it comes.”

  More stroking, then he forced down a purr. His cat was enjoy
ing the beguiling touch way too much.

  At least she had that, Assefa thought, his father having told him nothing about his own handfasting ritual. There were many things his father would rather take to his grave than reveal to another, even Assefa. Besides, when it came to courting a witch, the Berber men tended to only tolerate the handfasting ritual. By now, a Berber male would’ve simply bitten, marked, and claimed his witch and mate. But such a strong-arm tactic was never wise with a witch. Especially not one as powerful as Sanura, in spite of his beast’s constant growling for him to do just that. But Assefa trusted Sanura to guide them through the ritual, knew from the way she kept touching him that she wasn’t as unaffected by him as he’d initially thought. As she acted.

  Sanura slid her hands from his head to rest on each cheek and started to caress his rugged face. “You feel a loss of self-control around me for the same reason I do. We are indeed compatible, and because we haven’t gone through the ritual, we haven’t aligned our auras to each other’s frequency. Once we do that, you won’t feel the sense of loss. In fact, you’ll have even more control over your inner cat and be more in tune with your chi. There’s much more, but it’s getting late. I’ll stay here tonight, but I have to get up early and visit Betsy before I drive back to College Park for my first class.”

  Assefa tightened his arms around Sanura’s waist, not ready to end the evening. No, she felt way too good for Assefa to let her go. Not yet.

  Despite her words, Sanura made no attempt to move either. She leaned in close to his ear. “In spite of the intensity of the energy we create and how good it makes my body feel, that alone doesn’t account for the feelings I’ve developed for you. I want to get to know you for so many reasons, none of which have anything to do with biological compatibility. And if I wasn’t so tired, I would make you a list.”

  Relieved, Assefa smiled, thinking he could probably coax her into making that list for him at a later date. He had a list of his own, the top three having to do with brains, compassion, and family values. “I just needed to know what you feel originated in your mind and not simply your body.”