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

by N. D. Jones

  “For the love of Rock Hudson, let go of my hand. I don’t like you that much, kid.”

  Or maybe not. Typical Mike.

  “Now get out of here and go see Sanura before I have to kick your lovestruck ass.”

  Assefa went. He didn’t need to be told twice.

  She loved the night—dark, cryptic, and full of endless possibilities. It called to her kind, pulling them into the shadows of its generous bosom, shielding them as they hunted and found sustenance of the most exquisite crimson variety.

  Glowing red eyes dropped to the man being led by the arm, away from the glass doors of the hospital and to a black SUV. The lights of the parking lot revealed little from this distance, but she knew the handcuffed man—his walk, his scent, his taste, the feel of his body over top of her…inside of her.

  For a fleeting, sentimental moment, she considered swooping down, claws and fangs bared and killing the man who was taking away her lover. She’d followed Richard to this place, knowing whom he sought within the building. The witch he ordered me not to kill. The witch he gave his heart to. The witch whose name he moaned when he was fucking me.

  Lifting higher into the sky, she did nothing when the tall, bald man shoved Richard into the backseat of the truck. Nor did she follow when the man started the engine and then drove away—destination unknown.

  Richard didn’t love her. He had never loved her. He’d only ever loved himself and that sweet-smelling witch of his—the one who’d thrown his apology back in his face and brought the wrath of a Mngwa down on the adze’s family.

  Even after that, even after watching the slaughter of the adzes, Richard still couldn’t help seeking out the wounded witch. Worse, he hadn’t used their blood link to call to her, to see if she was near or far. Richard had watched the battle, the same as she had, so he knew she hadn’t been among the dead. So why hadn’t he contacted her?

  Because it was never about you, don’t you know that by now? It was always about him. His needs. His wants. His desires and feelings. You were nothing more than filler of his many voids. He thought to control you. He wanted to stop the bloodlust, the headaches from our bond, and the killing of witches.

  But the bloodlust couldn’t be stopped, not once quickening began. Richard knew that. He understood the gestational demands of an adze as well as his father had. Nominal, infrequent drinks from an unwilling blood donor weren’t enough, not when an adze carried her unborn for four long years. The female required more. So much more than a measly pint’s worth of witch blood a month. Two years into my pregnancy and my belly has the barest of roundness. But once I enter the third year, the babe will need a lot more blood. And I’ll make sure she gets it, as much and as often as possible. To Anubis with Richard Houghton.

  She snarled at the thought, at the feeding restrictions Richard attempted to place on her and the others. He was an arrogant and manipulative human servant, nothing like his blindly obedient father or his starchily uptight grandfather. And we stupidly followed him from one state to another, trusting Richard to hide and keep us well-fed when we should’ve devoured the weakling, years ago—one scrumptious organ at a time.

  Now, however, she was alone. For the first time in decades, the adze had no human to rely on or adzes to compete with for food. She could hunt when and where she wanted—consuming as much blood as she and her unborn babe required. No one can stop me. Not Richard. Not his witch. Not even that vicious Mngwa, who had, in his unintentional way, set me free to be the adze I was meant to be.

  But now was too soon to begin hunting witches again. If nothing else, Richard had taught them how to hide, how to get lost and start life anew. As she became one with the darkening sky, the adze felt the small life inside her shift, temporarily sated from her last feeding. The paltry witch had turned out to be a surprisingly filling meal. Too bad the adze didn’t have time to sample the other morsels in the children’s home. She always wondered how humans tasted. Maybe she would find out. Perhaps their blood would prove succulent and life-sustaining. Many times, Richard had told them to only hunt witches of no consequence, witches who wouldn’t be missed if they turned up dead or disappeared without a trace.

  For hours, the adze flew, traveling through Maryland and Virginia. As night threatened to give way to day, red eyes narrowed on a luscious figure in a dismal alley. The woman, wet from the misty rain, cried into her hands, shoulders hunched and shaking.

  She didn’t smell like a witch, but she was alone, which was nearly as good. From her cheap, black-and-red fishnet stockings and red, skintight leather dress, the contemptible creature was most likely a whore. Who would miss a whore, right Richard? No one. No one indeed.

  With no other thought than feeding her babe, the adze spiraled downward, joining the pellets of rain cascading on the seller of female flesh.

  Gurgled gasps followed her entrance into the alley and fangs into tender flesh—soft, shocked, and final.

  Standing over the crumpled corpse on the urine-stained ground, the adze waited for her body to reject the foreign, human blood. When her stomach ceased burning and cramping, it settled into greedy satisfaction—the babe was pleased. She smiled, and then licked the last of the crimson tonic from her lips.

  Not delicious but quite good. Oh yes, human blood will do nicely. Now, I wonder if I can transform to look like this human. It worked each time I filled my belly with witch’s blood—the only form in which Richard would deign to touch me. Perhaps it will work with the fresh blood of a human coursing through me. Well, there’s only one way to find out…

  Claws ripped her shoulder, flesh peeled back, exposing the tender meat inside. Blood flowed. Dark, thick rivulets coated shirt, arm, back. Then the fangs came, sharp and lethal. She cried out in protest, her fire totem rising to the fore, protecting her, pushing back the monster with an inner heat, a flame hotter than the surface of the sun.

  “Wake up, sweetheart, you’re dreaming.” Soft. Tender.

  The flames grew, spreading, an uncontrollable wildfire bent on destruction. She thrashed, compelling the flames forward, needing the monster away from her, wanting the beast to burn.

  “Sanura, wake up.” Husky. Hard. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe. I’m here, now come back to me.”

  Familiar. Her mind registered the familiar cadence, recognized the energy signature circling her fire, corralling the flames, cooling the heat, and calming the woman.

  “Open your eyes for me.”

  Slowly, and with surprising effort, Sanura’s eyes slipped partially open.

  “That’s good. Now open them all the way, sweetheart.” A gentle coax, one she appreciated.

  Her eyes opened the rest of the way, finding Assefa staring down at her when she did. So handsome. But more than that. Worried, tense lines replaced his normally stoic veneer. Not in FBI mode. Only Assefa, the man.

  “H–how long?” Dry mouth. Croaky voice. She vaguely remembered waking up a time or two before, but the pain medicine had her mind muddled, doing its job too well.

  Thankful for having such an intuitive agent at her side, Sanura gratefully accepted the water Assefa offered and slowly sipped from the white bendable straw. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “How long have I been asleep?” Better, less Kermit the Frog.

  Assefa stood, walked to the window and opened the white vertical blinds. Bright light had her blinking, then turning away from the morning rays.

  “That long?”

  “Long enough for me to run home, grab a quick shower and a change of clothes.” He returned to her side, the bed dipping when he sat beside her.

  “You needed the rest.” He moved a strand of hair out of her face, his callused fingers gentle.

  “What did I miss while I was out?” Did we get all of the adzes? Are we safe from the monsters?

  Hand still in her hair, he began to stroke, the movement sensually distracting, brown eyes locked on hers. “It’s over, Sanura.” She waited, expecting Assefa to add…well, she didn’t know…something else.
But he said nothing more, just continued to caress her. His hand slipped to the nape of her neck. Energy spread from his fingers, down her neck and to her sore shoulder, tingling, tempting, teasing.

  Sanura closed her eyes and sank into the slightly elevated bed, enjoying Assefa’s attentions. The man could turn into a snarling, vicious beast, one capable of tearing its prey limb from limb. And he had, the adzes easily succumbing to the superior predator. Yet here he sat tending her, his touch as comforting and inviting as a polar fleece blanket on the coldest of Baltimore nights.

  Two thuds, then a dip. Sanura didn’t have to open her eyes to know that Assefa had divested himself of his fine leather shoes and had fully joined her in bed. He gathered her close, careful not to jostle her shoulder. She sank into the man, head pillowed against hard chest, his heart a steady, reassuring beat.

  The simple, protective gesture made Sanura feel cherished. A feeling only her father had ever completely succeeded at evoking. Now there was Assefa Berber, the man, the special agent, and the Mngwa of myth.

  She raised her face to him, his eyes already cast down to her, staring, seeing more than she’d ever revealed before. Her heart newly but cautiously opened to him.

  “Ask me again?” She reached for his cheek. Her wandering hand found regal nose, thick brows, and dark hair. Then her mouth found his, petal-soft pecks of hopefulness.

  She’d spurned him once before, surprised by the depth of her feelings for him, yet too afraid to risk her heart again. Damn Richard. And damn myself. But what would she risk if she gave Assefa up if she continued to wallow in uncertainty and self-doubt? Would he wait for her to get her act together? Or had she wounded his pride too much for him to forgive, to understand, to allow them to move forward…together? By all that was magical, she hoped not.

  “Ask me again to move in with you.” She stilled her trembling hands and forced the eyes that wanted to slink away in fear to hold firm. If she wanted him—and I do—Sanura knew she could reveal none of the inner turmoil she felt. She knew if Assefa didn’t see certainty in her eyes, he would reject her as she’d so foolishly done him.

  For an indescribable instant, when his eyes darkened with an emotion Sanura couldn’t quite define, she wondered if he still wanted her now that his business in Baltimore was concluded. Perhaps the offer was made only in the heat of the moment, and he was now grateful that she hadn’t accepted.

  The urge to withdraw physically from him and her presumptuous words increased the longer he stared, saying nothing but looking deeply. Too deeply.

  Finally, he broke the constricting silence. “Are you sure?”

  Sanura nodded.

  “What if,” Assefa began, his tone breathtakingly flirty, “I decide you have to earn that question? Nothing in life is free, sweetheart.”

  “I thought you were a gentleman. You would charge me for the pleasure of hearing you ask that question again?”

  “I can be a gentleman, at times.” He licked her lip before delving his tongue deep inside, an unexpected but most welcome kiss. “Like now, when I want nothing more than to lock the door, strip you naked and devour the heat between your legs. As you can see,” he looked her up and down, “you’re still dressed and”—another spine-tingling kiss— “dry.”

  Dry? Well, not if he kept kissing her like that.

  In a flash, he sobered. The sexy, flirty Assefa vanished, giving way to the more serious special agent. “Will you move in with me?”

  As steady as that question had come out, Sanura had seen the briefest flicker of worry in his eyes. As if she would be so cruel as to reject him again. She wouldn’t. Of course, she wouldn’t.

  “You’re what I want, Assefa.” She slid an affirming caress across his solid, stubborn jaw. “I only hope I’m truly what you want.” Because there was so much more to her than the special agent knew, a flame that could so easily burn out of control if she wasn’t careful. A fire, she knew, that had nothing to do with passion but everything to do with too much power.

  Assefa grabbed a hand, placed it to his lips and kissed. “You’re exactly what I want. My destiny. My—”

  She kissed him, seeking the sensations behind the words, needing the physical reassurance no flowery sentiments could ever adequately express.

  He returned the kiss. Tongue slid inside, an unspoken dance practiced the world over by new lovers beginning the mating bond of lust and love. While lust was sexy, easy and fun, love…well, that required so much more. Trust, faith, vulnerability, none of which Sanura could claim with any proficiency. But she would try. For Assefa…and herself, she would try.

  “They survived the first test, Sekhmet, and they performed admirably.” Yemaya smiled at what Sanura and Assefa—their mortal creations—had accomplished thus far.

  “They did, but it is still not enough. They have only begun to open up and accept their powers. They have to completely embrace each other, their united potential, and their destiny.”

  “So, test two?”

  “Yes, on to test two.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Are you sure you want to move in this weekend?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. This is the tenth time you’ve asked me. Is my special agent having second thoughts?”

  A deep, sensual laugh glided over invisible air currents and curled, like a warm, reassuring kiss, in Sanura’s heart. “Not on your witchy life. I just wish I was there to help you get settled. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in this ice box of a state.”

  “Too cold for you, Special Agent Berber?”

  “You try catching a murderer in freezing weather and see how you like it. Africans aren’t meant for frigid weather. I don’t care how beautiful the postcards are of Alaska, it’s too damn cold here.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a stereotype about Africans not liking cold weather.”

  “Stereotype or not, this African, or rather this Sudanese, hates cold weather, especially when I don’t have a particular fire witch to keep me warm.” A low, rumbling purr of masculine pleasure preceded the softly spoken words of, “I need you to protect me from Mr. Frost. He’s a cruel beast that threatens a certain delicate region of my were-cat anatomy.”

  Sanura blushed. Even thousands of miles away and through a cell phone, he could make her body temperature rise with such little effort. She shook her head ruefully, forcing herself to remember it would probably be days before she could act on the heat he created in her every time they spoke on the phone.

  “Are you sure, Sanura?” No trace of flirtation and good humor. Back was the too-serious special agent who’d managed, in an amazingly short time, to work his way into her heart.

  “I’m already in the limousine and, according to your driver, we’ll arrive in less than thirty minutes. Stop being a mother hen. I had enough of that the last two weeks. Between my mother and Mike, they drove me crazy while I was healing. Believe me, this move is a much-needed respite from their overbearing fussiness.” If Mike had driven Sanura home instead of to the hospital, Makena could’ve used magic to heal Sanura. After being admitted, however, the magic option no longer existed, not unless they wished to explain Sanura’s “miraculous” recovery to the full-humans’ medical staff.

  “You were hurt. If my uncle hadn’t sent me away on another assignment, only two days after we dealt with the adzes, I would’ve been there helping them take care of you.”

  A heavy sigh preceded a long pause. She knew that pause. It was Assefa’s guilt pause. And Sanura was well aware it stemmed from him being forced to leave her before she was fully recovered. But that’s not completely true.

  Sanura remembered Assefa’s golden eyes when he held her in the surveillance van, as Mike drove frantically to get her to the hospital. His eyes had reflected concern, but also anger. The concern was obvious. At the time, she thought she understood his anger. Sanura had assumed the emotion was directed toward the adze that had hurt her. It was just that simple, or so she’d initially believed.

 
Unwilling to spare any time getting her medical attention, Assefa had hastily and partially dressed after his transformation from a Mngwa into his human form. With glassy, fatigued eyes, she’d stared at the half-naked special agent. He wore only a pair of black khakis, his gray shirt pressed to her wound, an effort to staunch the bleeding. It had been a nasty gash. She could tell from the amount of pain and blood. But through it all, it was the loving glow of Assefa’s golden cat eyes that had silently soothed and comforted her.

  It wasn’t until Sanura was treated by a capable doctor and fussed over by an equally attentive mother that she’d glimpsed him standing stoically in a corner of her hospital room. He’d leaned against the back wall, eyes closed, jaw and fists clenched. Sanura could see not only his guilt-covered aura but sense his inner pain as strongly as she could feel the lingering effects of her own, dulled slightly by whatever medication she’d been given.

  Even when his eyes opened, they never met her own. When he thought her asleep, though, he’d come to her bedside. Placing a gentle finger to her scratched cheek, he’d leaned down to her ear and whispered the most genuine apology she had ever heard. Sanura had made sure to remain still and not respond, unwilling to embarrass him. After all, a were-cat’s pride was as great as his will, his heart, and his need to protect.

  “I should’ve been faster,” he finally said, unknowingly bringing Sanura back to the present conversation. “I was too slow, and you got hurt. That should’ve never happened. It won’t happen again.” An affirmation from the man, a promise from the cat.

  “I already told you that my getting hurt wasn’t your fault. I don’t know the average time for a shift, but you caught up to us in three minutes flat. No one else could’ve done better,” she tried to soothe. “You saved my life. Please stop blaming yourself for something that no one else blames you for.”

  “I know, but—”

  “It’s over. It’s done and over with. Buried like those four adzes, never to return. Let it stay buried, all right?” Her words were a warmly uttered coax she hoped Assefa would heed and stop needlessly hurting himself.