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

by N. D. Jones

  “Watch your mouth in front of my baby.”

  “Your baby will be thirty next year. And from the sounds I heard when you opened the basement door, she knows all about vaginas and di—”

  Whack.

  “Dammit, stop hitting me.”

  “Language, Mike, language. Anyway,” her mother said, swallowing what was probably another Mike-intended spell, “you left Assefa with too much of your energy. I know you’ve never had a familiar before, but you should know they need to maintain a magical balance. If they don’t have that balance, they will become—”

  “Grumpy, irrational, stubborn,” she interjected. Yeah, Assefa was all of those. But she wasn’t to blame. Why could no one see that?

  “What your mother is gently trying to tell you is that there are two ways were-cats can best release pent-up magical energy. Hunting and fucking.”

  Quick as a rabbit, Mike covered his head, but no magical slap came.

  Makena sighed. “Or,” she said with intense exasperation, “you could’ve simply siphoned off some of the magic before we left for the hospital. The way I taught you. That’s what a witch does for her familiar.”

  Oh. Damn. How could I have forgotten that?

  “Is he in pain?”

  “Like I said, Assefa has a magical fever. He’s exercising to burn off some of the excess energy. If he could hunt, or run in his cat form, that would accelerate the process. But he obviously can’t do any of that here.”

  “Or you could make yourself useful and go down there and apologize for leaving Assefa’s side to go talk to the dickhead. And for the love of Monica Lewinsky, Sanura, don’t tickle his pickle while I’m still within earshot.”

  Whack.

  “Ow. Fu—If you do that one more time, I swear, I’ll lock you up for assaulting an officer.” Mike pushed from the kitchen table, his glare all for Makena. “You’re an evil, evil woman. A fire-breathing dragon has nothing on you.”

  “Stop complaining. I didn’t hurt you. A dwarf’s head is like granite. Besides, it was just a mild spell.”

  “Mild spell, my ass. Nothing about you is mild, woman. Look, I’m going into the living room to finish watching Lord of the Rings. Call me when Assefa’s done, so we can chart our next move.”

  Mike left the kitchen, one hand rubbing the back of his head. Sanura felt sorry for him. He was only looking out for her best interest. And what did he get in return? A threat from his temporary partner and magical slaps from his friend. Yeah, that was enough to send any dwarf fleeing to the comfort of Gimli and his ever-faithful battle-axe.

  “Maybe I should go after him.”

  “Mike will be fine. I’ll take him a cup of coffee and a slice of pie in a few minutes.”

  “I’m talking about Assefa.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, I think you should just give him some breathing space. Because, really, sweetie, there are just some things a mother doesn’t need to know about her daughter. And if you go down there now…” She shuddered. “Thank Ra Assefa heard us because your scream is worse than a banshee’s. I hate to think what I would’ve seen him doing to you if he hadn’t heard me on the steps.” Another shudder.

  O…kay. Did her mother have to go there? But, yes, she’d been loud. And Assefa had made her come—three times, twice with his fingers and once with his fingers…and his mouth. By the gods, the man knows how to work that tongue of his. Then they were interrupted, and Assefa hadn’t gotten his chance to release the excess energy from his newly altered aura. The way I did. Then it was all about Gen and the adze and getting to the hospital as fast as possible.

  “All will be fine,” Makena assured. “Don’t worry.”

  Don’t worry? About what? The adze? Assefa? My safety?

  “I think I’ll join Mike in the living room.” Because she could hear every time Assefa’s fist connected with her father’s heavy bag—hard and harder. She’d make it up to him. If he’ll let me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sanura watched Assefa peer out of the living room window, the impressive width of his shoulders not enough to block the rays of the rising sun. He was a strong man in many ways, the body the most obvious but not the most important. His mind, loyalty, and faith exceeded that of any muscled form.

  She’d never had sexual relations with a were-cat. On a certain level, full-humans were easier to manage. Their knowledge of her world was nonexistent, so they demanded less, allowing her to maintain a safe emotional distance. She’d had to admit that to herself recently. However, were-cats, especially ones like Assefa and her father, were dangerous.

  “I fell in love with your father because he was disciplined, so in tune with his cat spirit that he understood me when I didn’t even understand myself. He was patient and kind, encircling me with his love when I would’ve run away. He was possessive, like all were-cats, but only for my heart, never controlling, always there, always true.” Her mother’s words the day her father died were forever engrained in Sanura’s mind and her heart.

  “I will destroy you or anyone else who hurts Sanura.” Why would Assefa threaten Richard? The man could be pompous on occasion, but nothing more. No match for a man like Assefa. “You’re playing games, Houghton, and I won’t have it.” What kind of games? With me?

  Sanura ran a hand through what had to be a messy mass of hair. Still enjoying the view of her special agent, she wondered, not for the first time, how her handfasting had gone so terribly wrong. No, not the handfasting itself, just everything afterward, like Gen’s attack and Richard popping up as if we were still together.

  “I don’t want Richard, and I didn’t ask him to meet me at the hospital.” Third time telling him that, and she would say it over and again if Sanura could forget the look of betrayal, then anger that had crossed Assefa’s face when he’d sensed Richard’s presence.

  Assefa turned and weary eyes settled on her. Sanura was also tired. A day that was already too long had ended with a two-hour strategy session. Fifteen minutes ago, Makena had led a grumpy Mike out of the kitchen and to the downstairs guest room before dragging herself to her own room.

  “I know you didn’t invite him. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” A hand rubbed over red eyes. “I’m not usually so…so…easily agitated.” Another eye rub. “There’s just something about the man that makes me want to”—for a second, his eyes flickered Mngwa gold— “protect you from him.” He rolled what were probably tense shoulders. “It’s late.” With a glance back at the window and the steadily rising sun, he amended, “It’s morning. I should go home.”

  Assefa didn’t move.

  His hesitation pleased Sanura, stirring memories from the handfasting, and Mike and Makena’s wretched sense of timing.

  Sanura walked over to him. The man was clearly still agitated, and she wondered how much of her magical energy he’d burned off. She hated seeing him this way, off-kilter and on edge. And his mask, the one that kept her out and his emotions in, was gnawing the hell out of her.

  She touched a cheek, the beginnings of stubble there, his face too warm. He still has a fever. All my fault. I should’ve known this would happen. Should’ve better prepared, taken care of my familiar.

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t even bother asking for what she was apologizing. The way he looked at her, with understanding and forgiveness, Assefa knew precisely what she was talking about. “I won’t ever do that to you again.” She raised her other hand, stroked his other cheek. “I promise.”

  Eyes on her, Assefa said nothing. Sanura knew she should siphon off that extra magical energy still swarming through him. Now was perfect. They were alone, she was able, and Assefa seemed willing. Yet she waited, didn’t begin the requisite incantation. Instead, Sanura lifted her face while pulling Assefa’s down.

  She kissed him.

  Tender.

  Slow.

  Lips and tongue worked to coax him from his self-imposed shell, willing him to lower his mask and let her in. Twining fingers in hair, Sanura massaged h
is scalp, knowing, even though he refused to admit it, how much Assefa enjoyed the caress.

  Deeper. Her kiss.

  Harder. Her massage.

  Then she heard it, neither roar nor growl—a purr. Yes, purr for me, baby. Let me know you’re alive in there, that you still burn for me, the way I’m burning for you.

  From one purr to the next, Sanura found herself pressed against the nearest wall and Assefa’s massively hard body. Be careful what you ask for.

  He took over the kiss and—hell, no—it was no longer tender, no longer slow, but—thank Oya—still wonderfully deep. Still delicious. Still wet. Still hot.

  Standing on tiptoe, she wrapped arms around broad shoulders. Joined mouths ate at each other with vigor, lust, want, and madness.

  On a ragged hiss, Assefa’s mouth slid from hers. She instantly missed those lips. But they returned.

  He bit a nipple. The slight sting sent a flood of heat through her. He bit again and again.

  Each time, each erotic nip through silky blouse had Sanura arching, a silent demand for a larger, harder bite. But he didn’t nip her again. Instead, he opened his mouth and devoured as much of her as he could.

  Then he began to suck, wetting blouse and bra as he found her nipple and made it his. So good, Sanura could barely stand. Another sweet purr and then bold hands shoved her bra up and out of his way. His mouth returned, locating naked breasts and aching nipples.

  She heard herself moan. The more he sucked, twisted and bit, the louder her moans became, the more urgent her need grew. Between the lust shrouding her brain, there was one word that broke the spell. Banshee. Gods no, there was no way they were going to have sex in Makena Williams’ living room with her mother and Mike in the same house.

  “Not here.”

  Assefa undid the front bra clasp, claimed breasts with both hands, and then kissed her, sending scorch patterns from their mating lips, down her throbbing nipples, and to her quickly moistening sex.

  And under she went.

  Those wily hands of his moved beneath her skirt, found her wet secret, and began to stroke. And—yes—she knew in less than two minutes Assefa would turn her into a raging, shameless banshee on orgasmic crack.

  Searching for a fortitude she didn’t truly want to find, Sanura squeaked out, “Not here. We can’t do this here.”

  His growl returned. “Where, Sanura? I’ll be damned if we have sex in a car, and I don’t want to wait until we drive to my place to be inside you.”

  She didn’t want to wait either. But they had a better option than the back seat of one of their cars.

  “Come with me.” She took his hand then remembered her skirt was hoisted to her waist and her blouse and bra were askew. Leaving the bra undone, Sanura dropped his hand, so she could straighten her shirt and readjust her skirt. Once done, she reclaimed his hand.

  Sanura found her purse then guided them from the living room, through the kitchen, out the back door, and toward a one-level cottage located directly behind the main house.

  “When my father died,” Sanura started to explain, filling the anticipatory silence as they crossed the stone path to the cottage, “I began spending more time at home to be near my mother. Eventually, I let my lease run out on an apartment I was renting in College Park. Now I spend the weekends here. During the week, I stay at a Council-owned house with three other witches who also work for the university. Mom insisted I stay in the guesthouse, so I could have privacy, and she wouldn’t have to put up with a grown daughter who likes to practice spellcasting at the oddest hours. To be honest”—she used her key to unlock the door and let them in the house—“I think Mom just wanted time and space to grieve in her own private way while having me close enough that she could keep an eye on me, secure in knowing she didn’t lose everyone she loved.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how it feels to lose a parent. My mother died when I was five. My sister and I were too young to understand why she was no longer around. It was as if she was sucked out of our lives, as if she never existed. No one in the family, especially my father, ever mentions her. I don’t even remember a funeral, though there had to be one.”

  Some of the light in his eyes dulled when he reminded himself how little he’d retained of his life before his mother’s death. But children as young as Assefa had been when his mother had passed on typically recalled only bits and pieces, if anything, of the deceased parent. And as heartbreaking as her father’s death had been, Sanura had nearly three decades of fond memories to draw upon. In that respect, she counted herself among the lucky.

  This discussion had taken a morbid turn, and while Sanura wanted to know everything about Assefa, talking about dead parents wasn’t exactly mood-setting conversation. She blamed herself for that, her nerves causing her to babble.

  “You have a sister,” she said, picking up on the one clue to his identity she wanted to know more about.

  “A twin sister,” Assefa clarified, his delectable lips forming the sweetest of smiles. “Her name is Najja, and I would love for you to meet her someday. I think the two of you would get along. You’re both smart, strong-willed, sensitive women who value family and friends.” As if it was an afterthought, he added, “I also have an older brother, Razi.” The look in Assefa’s eyes told her all she needed to know about their relationship. The psychologist in her knew when to dig deeper and when best to let a subject drop. Sanura asked no further questions.

  She removed her shoes, and he followed, placing them on the shoe rack in the foyer.

  Sanura pulled him farther into the guesthouse, then watched as Assefa took in her quaint quarters. They were painted in earth-tone colors of brown, green and blue, offset in clean patterns of white on the ceiling, window frames and wall paneling. The floor was made of solid Brazilian cherry wood, which glowed with a deep unworn shine. All care of Samuel Williams, his unknowing last project before his death.

  “How is it Elizabeth Ferrell was placed in a foster home so quickly?”

  “We take care of our own. It doesn’t hurt having a mother who just happens to be a family court judge.”

  Makena Williams, former prosecuting attorney, often used her position as judge to assist witches in family matters. In fact, all witches used their knowledge and roles in full-human society to lend a hand to their sisters and brothers whenever the need arose. Who else can we truly trust but each other? There were many such secret parallel societies, living beside or below that of the full-human one. Full-humans wouldn’t be comfortable with the idea of preternatural beings living and working among them. In fact, they would be horrified. The world had witnessed, unfortunately, what it meant for humans to fear the unknown, the different and unexplainable—repulsion, shunning, even genocide.

  No, witches did not always play by full-human rules. And when it came to protecting their own, especially the youngest among them, they were led by their own rules. Elizabeth Ferrell, while an orphan by full-human standards, now had more family than she would ever need. She was safe, and she would remain that way. In the end, that was all that mattered.

  “Of course, they’re witches.”

  Assefa followed Sanura when she made her way toward the bedroom. “Are the foster parents witches as well?” he asked before he closed the door behind him. Like the outer part of the house, it was redone, but not by her father. By me. She had pictures of smiling family and friends on dresser, desk, nightstands, placed neatly alongside ritual candles of varying colors, sizes, and scents. Her king-size bed had fluffy down pillows covered in a floral print pillowcase, accenting the all-white comforter that hung to the floor.

  While she agreed with her mother and Cynthia that the bed was far too large for the size of the room, looking at Assefa’s bodybuilder frame, she was now pleased with her decision to purchase the ridiculously large bed. Oh, yeah, the things she could do to him in that spacious bed. Sanura was suddenly pleased Richard had never visited this place, slept in that bed, sullying this moment in any way.

>   Sanura lightly brushed her fingertips over his face, which sent his eyes fluttering closed. He was being extraordinarily passive, nothing like the aggressive were-cat he’d been in her mother’s living room. “I don’t always have to be in charge. In fact, it’s better when the woman takes the lead.” She grinned with understanding and remembrance. He was back in control and intent on letting her take the lead.

  “Tell me what you want me to do. What will bring you pleasure?”

  Sanura did want to give Assefa pleasure, the man having already given her so much. She wanted more, of course, but Sanura had never been a selfish lover.

  Eyelids opened, mouth smiled, and arousal bloomed. “We can undress each other. Take it slow. Savor our first time together. Otherwise”—he stroked her hair, a shallow growl following— “we’ll tear into each other, searching for the relief denied us earlier instead of enjoying the total experience. And, sweetheart”—he lowered his gaze to her kiss-moistened lips— “I want to give you all you deserve, all you can handle. And more.”

  A lasciviously confident smirk crossed his sexy features. Sanura gulped, her body tingling in all the right places. He was right. If they continued the way they were going back at the house, they would barrel through the sex, fucking instead of loving. Just like Mike said. While Sanura wasn’t opposed to the former, she wanted their first night together to be the latter.

  Sanura lowered her hands to unbutton Assefa’s blue dress shirt. She ran unhurried hands up his chest and to his shoulders, where she slid his shirt off and down his arms to fall at his feet. She kissed first a cheek, then an ear, his neck, stopping just long enough to tickle, to taste, to torment. Lips found pectorals, her tongue his dark, ripe nipples, gently biting, sucking, wrenching a soft curse from the special agent.

  Curious fingers skimmed over rippling abs, dipping into belly button and circling.

  Assefa sucked in a breath.

  Sanura smiled, her lips pressed against his chest, still kissing, still enjoying his rich, honeyed flavor. She undid his leather belt, giving her access to the button that held his pants and her resolve together.