by Nadine Mutas
Somewhere, somehow, through the anguish scorching him alive inside, her words registered. He tried to speak, failed. His muscles wouldn’t obey. More convulsions. White-hot pain, liquid fire, searing his core.
Two hands cradled his head. “Rhun. Speak.”
One single word came past his parched lips. “Burns.” His voice sounded as corroded as his insides felt.
A moment of silence. “Your blood? It’s on fire?”
He managed to nod, barely. The motion shot more arrows of pain up and down his body.
“All right. Hold on.”
Her hands left his head, and he panicked. Where was she? Straining, he tried to sense her, but his vision was still full of fire and darkness, and all he felt was heat, heat, heat. Then, her voice, drifting through flames and the roaring in his ears, and he exhaled on a shudder of relief. She was speaking in a low murmur, undoubtedly reciting a counter-spell.
The acrid smell of seared hair hit his nose, and the burning in his veins ebbed immediately. His body tingled with the aftermath of the devastating sensation, a strange feeling of peace following the pain. The night air was pleasantly cool on his still heated skin. Slowly, the darkness clouding his vision receded as well, the world shifted back into focus—and centered on a face of pale beauty, framed by ginger hair. Eyes the color of the clearest summer skies held him spellbound.
A fine tendril of smoke rose up from the ground to his right, curled in the air and caught his attention. Glancing at it, he frowned at what appeared to be a burning lock of hair—Merle’s hair, judging by the color of the unburned end. Huh. So she’d pulled the spell out of his body and had transferred its effect to another target. Smart, that she’d cut a piece of her hair and used that for it, as it held enough residue of Merle’s life energy to pass as an animate target and thus fool the spell.
He looked back at her, pride and relief mingling with something else he had no name for.
“Rhun? Can you move?”
He could. He just didn’t want to. Her hands cupped his cheeks and she leaned over him, her breasts all but touching his chest, and the expression on her face… Oh, he could bask in that nurturing attention all night.
“Are you okay?” A slight crease appeared between her brows as she drew them together, regarded him with such worry, it pulled at something deep inside him.
“No,” he rasped, his voice still raw from the torment of the spell. “I…need…” He sighed, briefly closed his eyes for dramatic effect.
“What?” Merle’s voice had dropped to a whisper, too, as she leaned in a bit closer, probably to hear him better.
Her delectable scent filled his nose, and he barely held back an appreciative groan.
Her face tense with concern, she studied him. “What do you need?”
“This,” he said, and brought his hand up to the back of her neck to pull her down for a kiss.
His move was apparently so unexpected that she didn’t even resist him at first. He drew her down gently until their lips met in the slightest of touches, the soft caress he’d needed to steal. Ah, the feel of her. It soothed an ache he hadn’t been aware he’d had.
After a second of astonishment, though, she obviously realized what they were doing, and tried—not very hard—to pull away. He moved his hand from her neck to the back of her head and started a gentle massage. Her aura quivered with rapture and she moaned into his mouth, her body melting against his.
He unabashedly took advantage of her parted lips, slipped his tongue inside and kissed her as she was meant to be kissed. She responded with the fiery passion he’d come to know and relish. In between hot licks and playful nibbling, she kept murmuring something that might have involved variations of “damn,” “sneaky” and “demon,” though it was hard to tell. The way she dug her fingers into his hair, her aura trembling with excitement, and her body rubbing over his in sensual moves, well, it did impair his attention to other details.
His blood boiled again, though now for a different reason, and far more pleasantly so. Hell, she could set him on fire any time she wanted, and he’d burn to cinders with a smile on his face.
When she broke the kiss with a strangled moan, her breath heavy and fast, her cheeks flushed rosy and her hair tousled by his hands, he had to fight the impulse to flip her over and pin her underneath him to finish what they’d started.
“We—need to—leave.” Her voice had that sinfully husky note again. His fangs descended and his cock jumped in response.
Unerringly, his gaze homed in on the rapid beat of the pulse on her neck. Even though he’d recently slaked both hungers, he craved blood and pleasure—Merle’s blood and pleasure—with a force that would have knocked him flat if he hadn’t been lying down already. Judging by her state of arousal, he could probably make her come just by biting her. And that thought alone almost sent him over.
She’d obviously picked up on his idea, because her aura shimmered with the flamboyancy of heightened desire. “No,” she said in flagrant disregard of her body’s response. “Not here.”
He was about to suggest finding some dark corner then, when she pushed herself off him and straightened her hair.
“We need to get moving,” she said, turning away from him to glance around the quiet neighborhood. Abruptly, she rounded on him, eyes narrowed, scowl in place. “And besides, you already fed from me, no need to repeat that.” Her aura dimmed as if forcibly brought under control to show the least amount of emotions.
Well, well, well. His little witch turned cold on him again, just like before at the Victorian, after they’d shared a moment of relaxed intimacy. One he’d enjoyed maybe a little too much for his own liking, but that was a notion he didn’t want to dwell on. Neither was he going to ponder how good it had felt when she’d snuggled in his arms. Because, just like before, her icy shutdown brought his focus back to where it was supposed to be—on executing his plan.
She was a means to an end, nothing more, and if he enjoyed her company until he achieved his goal, fine, more fun for him. But no matter what, he would not let her get under his skin. As soon as she didn’t need his help anymore, she’d get rid of him without thinking twice, that was for sure. Returning the sentiment was the smart choice here. He’d be foolish to allow anything else. Against better judgment, he’d let her shake him up too much, and now it was high time he got his equilibrium back.
Which was easier said than done when simply looking at her made him feel like a bunch of pixies had a damn bouncing party in his chest. He gritted his teeth.
Tricky little witch.
Rising to his feet, he casually adjusted his erection, and glanced at their surroundings. “Where are we anyway, and what kind of hellacious spell did you just pull to get us out?”
She rubbed her forehead. “It’s a transportation spell, delicate stuff that can easily go wrong. It only works over short distances and for destinations you know well. This—” She waved at the neighborhood. “—is just about two blocks down from my house, which is as far as I could go.”
He followed her gaze to the old mansions half-shrouded in darkness. Some were Victorians like the MacKenna residence, some had been built during later periods. Here and there lights shone through the windows, and somewhere in the distance, a door shut loudly. He looked back at Merle and only now noticed the residual flicker of potent magic around her.
“Quite a powerful spell.” He didn’t even have to act to sound impressed. He truly was, down to his bones. He studied her with newly instilled respect, as another thing occurred to him. “You cast the spell without your grimoire—you know it by heart?” Scratch impressed, he was officially amazed.
“Well,” she said with a shrug. “Lily and I used to have this competition going on about who could memorize the most complicated and risky spells, and I came across this one. I thought it’d be cool if I could jump it on her someday, but I never got around to doing it in the end.” The wicked glint in her eyes was insidiously adorable. “I’ve wanted to try this f
or ages.”
Warmth spread through him, centering in his chest. Before he knew it, he smiled at her with an honesty that should have alarmed all his darker instincts. “That was an incredible piece of magic you used there. Well done.”
For a second, her eyes lit up with delight at his compliment. His stomach did a strange flip at the sight, but before he could dwell on that, a shadow fell over her face and the moment was gone. “Yeah, well, it comes at a price.” Looking away, she pressed her lips together and then took a deep breath. “We really have to get going now.”
He frowned when she pulled out a small electronic device—was that supposed to be a phone?—and started dialing.
“What are you doing?”
She paused and slanted a look at him. “Calling Lily. We need a ride since we had to leave my car behind, in case you didn’t notice.”
He snatched the miniature phone away from her.
“Hey! What the fu—”
“Stop and think, witch volcano.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re really going to call the niece of one of the Elders? You know, the people who are out to kick your ass? You want to give her your location and then have her drive you around town in a car familiar to the Elders? Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?”
She stared at him for a moment, her aura tightening with anger. “Fine,” she grudgingly conceded, “you’re right. What do you suggest then, Mr. Know-It-All? Hailing a cab?”
He tilted his head and regarded her with his smuggest smile. “Why would we do that when we have cars galore to choose from?” He waved in a general circle around them, and proceeded to walk up a driveway lined with conifers precisely cut into twisting rings. A posh black Mercedes was parked in front of the mansion at the end of the driveway. He pursed his lips and studied the sleek beauty. Well, hello there.
Merle’s gasp followed him in the quiet night air. “Rhun, no!” Her voice was all hushed urgency. “You can’t just steal someone’s car!”
“I’m not stealing, I’m borrowing.”
“It’s still not right. What if there’s an emergency and they need their car?”
He stopped at the driver’s side door. “See that impressive house there? It’s dark, no one’s home. Now look at this driveway, do you see those tire tracks in the gravel next to this stunning example of German automobile craftsmanship? This pretty thing right here…” He patted the smooth roof. “…is just the spare car of whatever ridiculously rich family lives here. They’re probably out enjoying an avant-garde interpretation of a Shakespeare play with lots of naked actors bathed in ketchup running around an empty stage, and when they get home and find their Mercedes gone, they can still cry in their Maybach.”
For all of five seconds, Merle stared at him in dumbstruck astonishment. Then, to his utter shock, she burst out laughing. Not a giggle, not a chuckle, but honest-to-the-gods heartfelt laughter. It lit up her face, let her eyes warm with amusement—and damn straight stole his heart. He could only stand and stare as the traitorous organ jumped in delight like some puppy and then fell to Merle’s feet.
“You’re terrible,” she said, when she eventually recovered from her laughing fit. She obviously tried to sport a serious expression, with little success. Her eyes still sparkled with humor and her lips kept on twitching.
“And proud of it,” he said dryly, swallowing past the tight lump in his throat.
He wouldn’t stop to consider what just happened. He couldn’t. With a short mental command, he unlocked the Mercedes’ door and gestured for her to get in.
“Forget it, I’m not driving around in a stolen car!”
“Perfect, since you won’t be driving.” He opened the door and was about to slide in, when he noticed Merle’s murderous glare. “What? I’ve seen you behind the wheel—you’re a hazard to public safety. Now get in.”
He slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door and inhaled the rich scent of the leather interior. Bliss. Brushing his hands lovingly over the elegant curves of the dashboard and the console, he sighed. Car design surely had come a long way in the last twenty years.
The door on the passenger’s side flew open and Merle got in, looking daggers at him. “You’re a chauvinist jerk.” She yanked the door closed, probably hoping for a loud bang. When the door shut with a smooth whisper, she uttered an adorable sound of frustration.
He tsked. “Now, now, I did not say that you being a bad driver has anything to do with the fact you’re a woman.” He started the car with another mental command, delighted at the soft purr of the engine, and swiftly backed out of the driveway. Shooting a sideways glance at her, he added with a grin, “Though I do believe it has everything to do with you being a witch.”
Merle huffed. “That’s still sexist.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Because all witches are women, as you know full well.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding, “now that is sexist.” She beamed in obvious triumph, when he went on, “I mean, why aren’t there any male witches? Talk about gender discrimination…”
For a moment, Merle was silent, as if considering. “Well, our lore says it’s part of the balance. You know, the whole endowing the ‘weaker’ sex with magical powers as a measure of compensation thing.”
He scoffed. “So says the oh-so-impartial witch lore.”
A moment’s pause, then she said, “I don’t think it’s true.”
He glanced at her, surprised.
“If it really was for compensation’s sake,” she said quietly, turning to the side window, “then all women would have magical means to defend themselves.”
He didn’t have to ask to know she was thinking of her sister. Her grief, spiked with bitter anger, was palpable, suffused the air, and every breath he took of it was like a sucker-punch to his guts. They drove in heavy silence for a while, Merle drenched in her sorrow, until she suddenly stirred.
“We need to go by Lone Fir Cemetery, so I can grab my supplies. Turn right at the next intersection and then—”
“I know the way.” At her raised eyebrows, he said, “For your information, I used to live here, too, little witch.” He focused back on the traffic. “As a matter of fact, I was born and raised and have spent most of my life in Portland.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I went abroad for a few decades when I was younger, and I’ve toured the rest of the country, but I came back some sixty years ago.”
Merle shifted in the seat to regard him with open curiosity. “Why did you come back?”
He turned right after the red light, the shadows of the city slipping by. “I’ve never felt at home anywhere else.”
She made a soft sound as if half-laughing, half-exhaling. It held a bitter note. “I’ve never even been anywhere else. Never had the chance to.”
“Would you leave if you could?”
She was silent for a long while, so long as to have maybe left the conversation. He knew better, though, and never broke into her thoughts.
“Not for good.” She tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear. “I guess I’d come back here, too, eventually. Too much of my heart in this city, too many living memories. Leaving that behind would be…” She paused, apparently searching for the right words.
“…like losing a friend.”
She glanced at him, tilted her head, and smiled. “Yes.”
“Yes,” he echoed quietly, gazing at streets that were as much a part of him as his heartbeat, no matter how much might have changed in twenty years.
After he’d parked the car on SE 26th Ave, they walked the short distance to the main gate of the cemetery, which was—unsurprisingly—locked at this late hour. The night was wrapped tightly around them, and neither cars nor pedestrians were in sight, still Merle threw nervous glances around before she ventured along the chain-link fence.
“We have to climb over.” Her voice was hushed despite their obvious isolation from anything remotely alive. “They used to ha
ve an open path into the cemetery over on Morrison, but they closed it a while back to keep out bums and junkies. But there’s a lower section of the fence over here, where some of the barbed wire is missing…”
“Pfft.” He turned to the gate. “Climb over,” he muttered. “What am I, a squirrel?” He opened the lock with another simple mental command.
At the soft creaking sound of the gate swinging open, Merle stopped short and whirled around. “How did you do that?” She followed him through to the other side and shut the gate behind her, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
“Same way I opened and started our sweet ride.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “Missed that in your anger, didn’t you?”
“You’re telekinetic?”
“A little. It’s limited in reach and force, but it does come in handy in certain situations.” He peered at her. “And it can be used so creatively…”
With a single thought, he gently pinched her nipples. Merle uttered a lovely squeal and stumbled.
“Watch your step, little witch of mine,” he crooned and walked on. Or rather, would have walked, if his legs hadn’t given out from under him as if pulled by an invisible string. With a thud, he landed on his knees, his hands barely keeping his face from making intimate acquaintance with the ground.
“Yeah.” Merle strolled past him, residual magic flickering in her wake. “The asphalt seems awfully slippery tonight.”
Grinning despite himself, he got up, brushed the dirt off and followed the sweet bane of his existence down the path into the heart of the cemetery.
Magic charged the air all around him. Visible fields of energy, shimmering like a desert mirage, shrouding certain spots more than others. The graves of witches. Even in death, they drew power and kept their magic close, retaining a hold on some lingering spells. Which was probably why Merle had needed to come here, to Rowan’s final resting place, to unbind him from the Shadows.
They reached the MacKenna family mausoleum, a haunting neo-Gothic beauty looming above all other tombs. Stained glass windows adorned the weathered sandstone façade, pointing upward in cusped arches. The gargoyle stone figures standing watch at the corners of the roof had lost some of their menace in more than a century of Oregon rain, but still the building remained an impressive testament to the erstwhile power the MacKenna family had held.