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

by N. D. Jones

  “With your help, perhaps we can do it.”

  He thought for a moment, looking out the living room window, seeing a group of boys using the street as a field for their game of touch football. An unexpected wave of homesickness assaulted him, repressed memories of playing catch with his father and brother before his mother had died and Razi turning from his protector to his tormentor. He pushed away the unwanted memory.

  “I’ve always known that was the key, but I could never figure out how to get a man who’d lost his ability to shift to reconnect with his inner cat spirit. It’s a tricky thing, Sanura, bridging that divide once the connection has been severed.”

  To his surprise, Sanura kissed his lips. “Thank you for coming with me.” His neck came next, wet, soft kisses. “Thank you for trusting me during the ritual.” She undid the first three buttons of his shirt, extending her kisses there.

  He slid a hand around her waist. “Damn, woman, you have an outstanding way of showing your appreciation.”

  She rose onto her knees and straddled his thighs. “I’m sure I can do better than a few kisses.”

  Yeah, I don’t doubt it.

  She undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, shoved up his undershirt, and lathered revealed skin with grateful, hot kisses. Then those impatient fingers of hers landed on his belt. His eyes flew to the living room entrance.

  “Ah, my witchy temptress, perhaps this isn’t the best place for you to show me exactly how much you appreciate my familiar skills.”

  Murmuring incoherent words against the nipple she was deliciously sucking, doors he hadn’t noticed slid from the walls until they met in the center, shutting them off from the rest of the house and providing a measure of privacy.

  Nice trick.

  Lifting her head, she cradled his face in her hands. “I’ll take back my magic now.” There was a sensual but also serious note to her voice. Obviously, Sanura still felt guilty about having given him a magical fever. And while he never wanted to experience that level of magical discomfort again, he’d forgiven her for her careless mistake. Everyone made them. I know I’ve made more than my share.

  They kissed, and he could feel Sanura’s fire magic swirling in him, waiting to be reclaimed by its owner. And she did. The longer they kissed, the more magical energy she sucked out of him and into her. The magic eagerly responded to her siren’s call, rushing up and out of him, impatient to please its mistress.

  It should’ve burned. The fire magic, so intense as it made its escape, should’ve brought fiery tears to his eyes. But Sanura was so gentle, her control over her element masterful. No, she wasn’t all brute strength as he’d said in the limo. He was wrong, or at least only partially correct. She had a surgeon’s touch neither one of them had given her credit for.

  Breathless from her relentless kisses but energized from the thought of being inside Sanura again, Assefa picked her up. Long legs wrapped around him.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Just here.” He checked the door.

  “I magically locked it.”

  Good to know.

  Sanura unhooked her legs and slid her feet to the floor. “I thought we could use the sofa.” She fingered her pants. “These seemed like a good idea when I got dressed. But then,” she said with a naughty smile, “I wasn’t thinking about having sex with you in my sister’s living room.”

  But they were going to, and he damn sure had no intention of getting caught.

  “Quickie,” he said, then spun Sanura around, her back to him, face to the door. “Put your hands on the door, sweetheart.”

  She did, oh so willingly.

  He unbuttoned her pants and dragged them and her panties down to her ankles. “Widen your stance for me. Yeah, just like that. Damn, you look good. Wish we had longer to indulge.”

  “So do I.” She wiggled that cute ass of hers. “But you can make it up to me later.”

  “That’s a given. Now,” he dropped his own pants and boxers, dick hard, ready and aching to be inside his witch, “let me sample your sweet magic.”

  He did, taking her from behind, penetration deep, hips grinding, barely thrusting, and maintaining constant, wonderful contact.

  “Next time,” he began in her ear, voice low, “I’m going to take my time, do this right.”

  “Y–you’re doing it r–right n–now.”

  Assefa pushed up her shirt and found a breast. Big and soft. He wanted to taste it, suckle the nipple before gently marking it.

  “But I can make it better for you. So much better.” He moved deeply into her, Sanura’s body taking the whole of him, her curvy hips the perfect love handles.

  There was one thing he could do. Now wasn’t the time to show her what it could mean to be mated to a were-cat with his particular talents. But they were alone, and he heard no sounds coming from the main level. Other than an upstairs television, he heard nothing at all in the house.

  Assefa thought about what he wanted to do to the woman he was making love to. He crafted the image in his mind, seeing her, seeing him. Two of me, one of her.

  “Do you want more of me, Sanura?”

  “Yes,” she moaned, hips pushing back, keeping him deliciously deep.

  “Do you want me to taste you?”

  “G–gods, yes.”

  “Then say it with your magic. Let it speak for you.”

  “I–I don’t understand.”

  “Say it. Ask for what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

  Her body trembled now, so close to release. But he wanted to do this for her, let her see how fantastic it could be between a witch and her mate.

  “Say it, sweetheart, just say it.”

  He’d barely gotten the words out before he sensed her magic, the temperature in the room increasing. Then she said the words he’d hoped she would. “Please taste me.”

  That was all it took. The erotic image exploded from his mind. Their shared magic poured out of him. Leaking cat magic coated him, hardened, and then split, tearing him in half. A writhing puddle of golden magic lay at Sanura’s feet, growing, stretching, and taking form until a second Assefa was kneeling in front of her, hands reaching out and finding hips.

  “Not possible. Gods, Assefa, that’s not possible.”

  Despite her surprise, Sanura didn’t move, didn’t push the second Assefa away.

  He didn’t answer her. Clearly, it was possible, and he didn’t want to waste time explaining it to her. He could only maintain this dual state for a few minutes.

  “Fulfill your witch’s command,” he told his second self.

  The second Assefa lowered his head and licked his witch.

  Sanura sucked in a breath.

  Assefa licked again, deeper and longer, tasting her the way she’d requested.

  Then Assefa began to move again, his thrusts pushing Sanura into the mouth devouring her.

  Thrust and lick.

  Thrust and lick.

  Thrust and lick.

  She moaned loudly, and then just screamed outright when he kept going. And going. And going.

  Assefa hoped Cynthia had the good sense not to come and investigate. Because, hell no, he wouldn’t stop. It felt too good, and they were too damn close to completion.

  Thrust and lick.

  Thrust and lick.

  Thrust and lick.

  “Yes, yes!”

  Sanura erupted around him, pulsing and wet and milking him with relentless spasms until he could do nothing but follow her with his own guttural grunts of release.

  For several minutes, there was nothing but heavy, breath-catching gasps.

  “You’ve been holding out on me,” she rasped, arms at her sides, forehead against the door.

  Assefa laughed. “And you never told me you were into threesomes.”

  They pulled up and adjusted their clothing, then Sanura turned to him after slipping back into her shoes.

  “I’m not into threesomes. Besides, I don’t think it counts if it’s the s
ame man divided in two.”

  He could argue the point, but since he had no intention of having a real ménage with her and another man, it was a moot point.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re trying to seduce me with kinky were-cat sex.”

  Yes, I am. Seduce you into staying with me forever.

  “I love you, Sanura Williams, and I intend to make you my wife.”

  She dropped her arms. “Your wife?”

  “Yes, my wi—”

  A girl’s scream blasted through the silent house, the shrill cry awaking the beast within.

  “Unlock the door,” he demanded.

  Before he reached it, Sanura already had it open, her movements as quick as his own. Together they ran out the living room, down the hall and up the stairs.

  Leading the way, Assefa rushed to the master bedroom, only to find Gen and Cynthia standing mutely. Gen pointed to the window in stunned horror.

  On the other side of the window and crouched in an oak tree, were the blackened, hungry eyes of a predator. Raven Mocker. Its soul-stealing gaze was all for Eric Garvey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Raven Mocker was a creature from Cherokee lore and one of the few beings so utterly vile and without conscience that the Preternatural Division of the FBI sanctioned their execution on sight. Now one of them was here, long beak too close to the window, death-black wings in repose, talons digging into tree bark and its disfigured “human” body throwing off sizzling currents of malevolent energy.

  Being the most feared of all demons in Cherokee tradition, Raven Mockers had the power to consume a dying person’s soul in order to sustain their own life. The name came from the beast’s immortality, in that its body would never become the prey of scavenger birds such as ravens. An enemy of witches, Raven Mockers tortured and taunted any weakened and dying person, both full-human and preternatural. An equal opportunity soul-stealer.

  At the sight, Assefa’s hackles rose. His Mngwa roared a warning. The cat wanted to be set free, to rip into the predator of souls with claws and fangs.

  “I–I came in to check on my brother. Cyn was busy with school work. I thought I could help out.”

  Then Gen had obviously seen the creature and screamed down the house, bringing Assefa and the witches running.

  The last time Assefa had seen Genji Zhou-Garvey, the pretty teen had been flat on her back in a hospital bed, her brother at her side, eyes rimmed red with worry. Now the tables were reversed, but Gen’s eyes shone with more than concern. Horror and fear.

  He was getting damn tired of this, tired of the gods’ first creations. Nothing but predators. Like me. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No, wait.”

  Angry and impatient, he turned to Sanura, claws already pressed against the top of his fingers, ready to surge from his skin.

  “You can’t transform.”

  “Why in the hell not?” Claws broke the skin, sharpened then lengthened.

  “Because, Assefa, how in the world would Cyn and Eric explain a truck-size cat in their front yard? Full-humans can’t see Raven Mockers, remember? But they sure as hell can see a 600-plus-pound Mngwa.”

  Shit. This was the reason why his grandfather had excommunicated thousands of full-humans from the Sudan. It was bloody, cruel and downright inhumane, but very effective. Full-humans tended to muddy the waters with their fear and ignorance.

  “I’m not going to let that thing come in here after Eric or one of you women. I have to do something. For whatever reason, traditional witch magic isn’t very effective against Raven Mockers. It can stun but not permanently incapacitate.”

  “I didn’t know that. I don’t remember ever learning that,” Cynthia admitted, the first words she’d spoken since Assefa and Sanura had rushed onto the scene. The woman looked like nothing more than a walking zombie, ready to drop where she stood. He wondered when she last had a good night’s sleep. Probably not for a long while.

  “What about my powers?”

  Assefa swung his gaze to Gen, a reedy teen with intelligent brown eyes, straight black hair, and a scent that confused him. “What powers?”

  Gen suddenly seemed less sure of herself, her eyes darting between Assefa and her sister-in-law. The straight black hair neatly pulled into a ponytail, and the red-and-white Betty Boop shirt she wore, made her look much younger than her fourteen years. Teen or not, if she had a plan for dealing with the Raven Mocker, Assefa wanted to hear it.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart, Assefa is like family. You can trust him with your secret.” Cynthia stepped closer to the girl, and then placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “Okay, good, then I’ll be back.” Gen ran from the bedroom. Neither Sanura nor Cynthia followed. Well, Assefa would be damned if he did nothing while a teenage girl handled the Raven Mocker on her own.

  “You two,” he said over his shoulder, trailing Gen, “keep an eye on that thing. I’m going to see what Gen’s got up her sleeve and if she needs my help.”

  Assefa followed Gen into a home office—chair, bookshelves, and a desk cluttered with paper. The room was located at the back of the house, an alley separating the home on the Garveys’ street from their neighbors on the next street over.

  He watched as Gen climbed out of the sole window in the room and onto a ledge. She used the ledge as leverage and swung onto the nearby tree. The thick, gray bark of the eighty-foot tree was sturdy and easily supported the teen’s meager weight. Its green, oblong-shaped leaves masked her movements. To his surprise, she expertly maneuvered the tree limbs like a tightrope walker until she reached the low part of the roof onto which she jumped.

  Curious, Assefa easily copied her moves, not allowing her to get too far ahead of him.

  They scaled the roof until they reached the top of the house over which they could see the Raven Mocker still crouched in the oak tree.

  “Watch this,” she whispered, then took a deep breath, and two fangs, not visible before, slid from her gums. The girl reared back like a cobra and spat a milky white substance at the Raven Mocker, her trajectory straight, aim true.

  It landed a dead target to the eyes that had peered up at them a second too late. The creature flinched, shaking his feathered head. Gen struck repeatedly; each shot a marksman’s perfect score.

  Assefa could see the venom burning into the Raven Mocker’s barely-visible human flesh, feathers black and covered with venom, soaking through and eating at him, an acidic assault the soul-stealer couldn’t evade, unless he risked leaving his perch to deal with the unusual witch.

  He watched, amazed, as Gen, with steely purpose, kept up the offensive. She’s going to make some unsuspecting were-cat a formidable but worthy mate. But damn…snake fangs?

  “You got this?” She gave him two thumbs-up. “Good, keep your distance. I’m going to check on the women, see if they’ve devised a plan.” Gen’s venom was nothing more than a distraction, a painfully annoying distraction, but inconsequential in the long run. They needed a better plan, preferably one that ended with the Raven Mocker’s overdue death. If I only thought to bring my gun.

  “If that thing comes after you while I’m gone, retreat first, then scream for me.” And the hell with what the full-humans saw. Assefa would end this the way he already should have. The things a familiar does for his witch.

  With one last look, Assefa left the Raven Mocker to Gen. He wouldn’t be long. No way would he permit that girl to be attacked by yet another monster.

  “I don’t suppose you have a gun in this house?”

  Sanura and Cynthia jumped, turning away from the window when he entered.

  “By the gods, Assefa,” Sanura said, hand going up to her chest, covering her heart, “give a woman fair warning next time.”

  “Do you, Cynthia?”

  She, too, looked startled to see him. “Do you?” he pressed.

  “Ah, no, sorry.”

  He hadn’t really thought the Garveys would keep a gun in the house. Witche
s and were-cats rarely relied on conventional full-human weapons to safeguard them. He, on the other hand, used whatever worked.

  Assefa pointed to the Raven Mocker but spoke to Cynthia. “You were watching that thing when I entered, keep watching and let me know if it does anything other than try to shield itself from Gen’s attack.”

  Assefa glanced at the bed. Eric Garvey was still in a post-surgery sleep. Good. One less thing to deal with. He gestured to Sanura and she came to him.

  “We haven’t thought of a plan yet if that’s what you want to know.”

  That was what he wanted to know, the most critical question, but not the only one. “She has snake fangs. How is that possible?”

  “Her mother was bitten by a cerastes snake when she was pregnant with Gen. As a witch, the venom couldn’t kill her, but it did—”

  “Guys, we have to help her.” Cynthia had their attention. “I don’t know how much longer Gen can maintain that level of attack.” They joined her at the window. Cynthia reached down and found Sanura’s hand. “But you could vanquish it. You can send that monster to another dimension. Now that you have your familiar, you are what we all knew you would become.”

  And there was that damn reverence again. No wonder Sanura found it difficult to take someone else’s counsel. Besides Makena, everyone in her life expected Sanura to have all the answers. Hell, even Mike relied on her to help him solve some of his cases.

  The women stared at each other, a silent communication that was, to say the least, unsettling in its still intensity. Especially since Assefa figured he wouldn’t like whatever it was the witches were planning. No good ever came from two plotting witches.

  “You’re asking me to attempt a dimensional transference spell?”

  “Yes, I know what’s at risk but—”

  “While it’s doable,” Sanura said, thinking over the suggestion, “I’ve never actually performed such an advanced-level spell. If I screw this up, even a little, I could send myself into the dimension instead.”

  Just as he’d thought, scheming witches were the most dangerous predators of them all, and anyone who thought witches weren’t predators didn’t live long enough to make that mistake twice. Cynthia and Sanura were crazy for even entertaining such a lamebrain idea. Assefa could suddenly envision them as reckless teens experimenting with unsanctioned spells in Makena’s basement.