by Nadine Mutas
It wasn’t until his aura quivered with delight that she realized she’d been leaning into his touch, rubbing her cheek against his palm. Uh-oh. Even though something tugged inside her, she straightened her spine and took a step away from him.
“Okay,” she said, ignoring his intense gaze. Was that disappointment in his eyes? Yeah right. Maybe she needed to have her eyes checked. Focus, Merle. “Suppose it’s really an Elder witch—neither she nor the other Elders will gain any advantage by learning what we know. If anything, it might work to our advantage if the other Elders find out one of them has broken our most sacred law. It might actually make them persecute that witch instead of me, and get them off my back temporarily.”
“Unless they’re all in on it,” Rhun said matter-of-factly.
For a good ten seconds, she could only stare at him. “Do not ever suggest that again.” Her steady voice belied her inner uproar. “There’s only so much treachery I can stomach before I run amok.”
And he had the nerve to chuckle at that.
“I will call Lily and give her the update,” she said, “because I don’t know whether I’ll find anything in the grimoire, and since I can’t very well go back to my house to raid the library, I need her help in finding out how to break that spell.”
“Oh, yes, right.” He snapped his fingers, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Because after Lily held up so well in front of her aunt, you can completely trust whatever information she passes on to you.”
“That she told her aunt about you under duress does not mean she’ll let her or anyone else manipulate her into feeding me false information. She’d rather take whatever punishment they mete out to her.” She looked daggers at him, daring him to contradict her.
“All right. Whatever. Go make the Call of Doom.” He waved his hands, threw her the phone and turned away. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Ignoring his pathos, she called Lily and relayed what they found out. To Lily’s credit, she neither fainted, nor did she throw a fit and accuse her of lying. In fact, she remained so calm that to anyone who didn’t know her it might have suggested she wasn’t the least shocked about the news.
Merle, though, who’d grown up with her and could read her friend like a book, knew the lack of emotions in Lily’s reaction was the equivalent of a hysterical breakdown for her. Only during the worst of moments would the extrovert witch shut down and restrain her outgoing personality in a desperate attempt at keeping herself together.
Lily vowed to look for a way to break the blocking spell while also keeping Merle informed about any moves of the Elders. Thanking Lily from the bottom of her heart, Merle hung up and turned to Rhun—who was covered in a gazillion tiny fairies.
Their fluttering wings let the air around him hum with oscillating magic coloring the night. He stood still, his arms held at an awkward angle so as not to crush the teeny fae beings plastered to his sides. When his eyes met hers, they held a glint of resignation.
Merle pocketed her phone. “Um, need any help?”
He sighed. “They’re smitten.”
“Smitten?”
“With me. You know, they see me and they’re addicted.” Shrugging one fairy-laden shoulder, he smiled smugly. “Not that I can blame them. I am gorgeous.”
Merle pressed her lips together lest she laugh, instead she cleared her throat. “Does that happen often?”
“Eh. Sometimes.”
“And how do you get rid of them?”
“I usually wait ’til they fall off.”
She stared.
“Well, they do get tired after a while, and then they can’t hold on any longer.”
Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead. “You should shake them off.”
“Why? Jealous?”
She gave him a droll look. “I have no desire to plaster myself to you.”
“Really? Not even if there’s a little rubbing involved?” He wiggled his brows.
“No,” she lied, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from saying anything else.
Checking her raging hormones back into place, she approached him and took out her old-fashioned keys to the Victorian. At the clinking sound of the metal, the fairies hissed and fluttered away. Rhun raised one eyebrow in a silent question.
“Iron.” Merle pocketed her keys again. “They hate it.”
“You really are a jealous witch. So heartless.” He put his hand across his chest in a gesture of pain, and shook his head.
“Oh, quit it.” She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth felt the strangest urge to curve upwards. “Now,” she said after a moment, putting her hands on her hips, “I need a quiet place where I can study the grimoire, somewhere safe and secluded. I’m kind of out of options here, because any place I can think of will be known to the Elders, too. You don’t by any chance happen to know a place we can hole up in for a while?”
“Actually, I do.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Well, I have to check with someone—and technically, I don’t know if he’s still around, so I’ll have to find him first, but I have an idea as to where he might be.”
Shooting him a wary look, she considered it for a moment. “For lack of alternatives, I’ll say let’s try that.”
They walked back to the car, and after a half-hour drive to the southeastern outskirts of Portland, Rhun parked in a back alley a little away from a dilapidated house shrouded in darkness. Neither street lamps nor lights from other buildings illuminated the gloom, and the whole area looked as inviting as a post-war zone. A sense of unease crept up Merle’s spine and she felt the inexplicable urge to leave as soon as possible. Preferably now.
“What is this place?” she whispered, a thousand spider feet crawling over her skin, her throat closing up.
Rhun turned off the engine. “If I ask you to stay in the car again, will you do it this time?”
Instead of answering, she repeated her question, with more urgency. Anxiety pulsed underneath her skin, every muscle poised to run away, every instinct inside her screaming to turn around and leave.
“A demon bar,” he said.
She stared at him, her clawing need to flee momentarily forgotten. “A bar? You guys have bars?”
“You know, I could take your flabbergasted disbelief as an insult, but since I am such a good-natured piece of awesomeness, I’m going to let it go.”
“I never knew such a place existed.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t particularly advertise in the witching community. The whole natural-born enemies thing, you know.”
“Funny,” she sneered. Then a thought struck her. “The area is warded, isn’t it?”
He nodded, locks of chestnut-colored hair sliding over his forehead, in beautiful contrast to his ivory skin. “Deterrent spells to keep humans and witches away.”
And that would explain the creepy feeling she’d gotten… “So,” she said, frowning, “you’re fine with revealing the location of a demon bar to a witch? Doesn’t that, like, break some demon loyalty code or something?”
“For that, I’d have to have some loyalty to start with.”
“What do you m—”
“I’m not exactly the poster child for a good evil demon, little witch. Let’s just leave it at that.” His fingers tapped on the steering wheel, and his gaze turned intense. “Now—will you stay in the car while I go in and look for my contact?”
“No.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. His aura pulsed. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Tough luck. I’m going with you anyway.” No way would she let him walk into a bar full of other demons, unsupervised.
“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” he muttered under his breath and got out of the car.
Merle followed him toward the dilapidated building at the end of the alley without feeling any glee about winning this argument. She was too anxious about what awaited her, and the wards now bore down with a vengeance. Every step she to
ok got heavier, as if her feet were burdened with lead. The more she walked forward, the more that strange force pulled her away. Her sense of unease grew, spread like cancer through her body, festering, until she could hardly breathe. All she wanted was to turn around on her heels and run like hell.
At about ten feet away from the house, she abruptly stopped, against her will, and froze as if her muscles had been locked. She couldn’t move forward no matter how hard she tried.
“Rhun,” she ground out, her heart hammering in her chest, her throat constricted.
He paused. “Getting cold feet?”
She so wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face. “I can’t go forward. It’s the wards.”
Rhun sauntered closer with dark nonchalance, stopped in front of her, his gaze holding hers. A sinister whisper of restrained power passed through his aura as he studied her with such disconcerting focus that she trembled.
“I should just leave you standing here,” he murmured.
Even in the dark, his eyes were piercingly bright, and right now, they held cruel, cold calculation. He cupped her face, leaned in and kissed her nose, and then he half-turned away with a sigh. Merle was about to yell at him not to dare leave her standing there, when he brought his right hand to his mouth and bit his thumb with one fang extended.
Cringing at the unexpected and strange move, she watched him press his finger for blood. A few drops pooled at the tip, dark crimson with the distinctive trace of demon magic. Without warning, Rhun stroked his thumb along her throat, smearing a trail of blood down to the hollow between her collarbones.
She jerked back. “What the hell did you just do?” But even before she’d voiced her question, she felt it. The compulsion of the wards fell away, the restraint keeping her from moving vanished. She hauled in a free breath, the feeling of anxiety gone.
“I marked you” Rhun licked the wound on his thumb closed.
Merle turned her attention back to him. “Wait—you marked me? Marked as in…”
“Mine.”
Her stomach made a dive for the ground. “What?” If looks could be lethal, she was sure hers would have killed him on the spot.
“Merle,” he said, ignoring her deadly glare with astounding ease. “First, it’s the only way to get you through the wards. Second, if you go in there unmarked, you’re fair game to any otherworld creature that wants to lay a hand on you. Chances are high that at least one of the demons inside has lost a friend or family member to a witch at some point, which paints a fucking bull’s eye on your back. You’re a strong witch and I’m a good fighter, but we wouldn’t last a minute against the crowd in there. With my blood on you, I’ve claimed you for my own. Means you’re protected by our laws against any demon assault on neutral ground such as this bar.”
Merle swallowed. Something funny was going on somewhere between her stomach and her chest. “This is only temporary, right? It’ll wear off?”
He pursed his lips. “Sure.” Before she could give in to the impulse of smacking him, he resumed walking, saying as he went, “Come on then, little witch of mine.”
Her heart bounced at that darkly murmured endearment, much to her irritation. Gritting her teeth and balling her hands to fists, she followed him to the entrance of the building, which now looked a lot less dilapidated than before. Apparently the uninviting appearance of the house had been another effect of the wards. They had veiled the standard-issue brick stone building as a repulsive ruin.
Now, the only uninviting, repulsive aspect of the location was the man standing in front of the door. Though man was probably the wrong word. He could only be described as a breathing wall of muscle. Merle picked up his unique aura, and her steps faltered.
“He’s a shifter of some sort, isn’t he?” she whispered to Rhun.
“Yep. Tiger.”
And there, Merle almost stopped and turned around. With an effort, she kept on following Rhun up the steps to the intimidating feline predator in human form. Clad in black leather from head to toe, dark hair shorn short, his ice-blue eyes night sharp and tracking Merle’s every move, he was the kind of male she wouldn’t want to run into alone even in broad daylight. Instinctively, she inched closer to Rhun as they stopped in front of the bar’s bouncer.
The shifter’s gaze lingered on Merle’s throat, studying the mark of blood, and his nostrils flared as he took in the scent. “She with you?” he asked Rhun without taking his eyes off her. His voice was scraped gravel, broken through with a roughness reminiscent of his tiger’s growl even in human form.
Rhun nodded. “That a problem?” His relaxed stance all but concealed the writhing agitation of his restrained aura.
Merle could feel the pulse of power in the air, sizzling between them.
After giving her another suspicious once-over, the tiger shot Rhun an intense look. “Don’t let it become one.” With a jerk of his head, he motioned them inside.
“I’ll try my very best,” Rhun muttered as they passed him and stepped into the bar.
The hum of conversation greeted them, broken by occasional laughter, over the drumming rhythm of Rock music. The room was large, though divided into a bar area, secluded booths and a couple of corners with pool tables and dart boards, everything dimly lit by scattered lamps.
“Stay close,” Rhun murmured in her ear, his breath hot on her skin, sending an appreciative shiver down her back. “Don’t stop anywhere without me, don’t wander off alone, don’t make eye contact with anyone. Oh, and try not to move in a conspicuously witchy way. In fact, try to move as little as possible.”
“Like only breathe once a minute?” she asked dryly.
One side of his mouth curved up. “That’s a start, little witch.”
Rhun prowled the bar, glancing around for his contact, and Merle followed him on his heels. If feasible, she’d have plastered herself to his back like a fairy now. She wasn’t easily scared and had means of defense as a witch, but the charged magical atmosphere in the bar had the hairs on her arms and neck standing up, and her heart rate was well on the way to breaking her very own speed record.
Everywhere she passed, the vibe coming from the otherworldly patrons changed from relaxed and cheery to wary with a sharp bite of hostility. Demons of all sorts and sizes, shifters, and nymphs, all of them focused their attention on Merle, dozens of gazes staring her down, scrutinizing her with unconcealed resentment until she felt crushed by the pressure of the barely leashed aggression.
“Witch,” some of them whispered, sneering at her.
Conversations stopped, replaced by growls. A female demon hissed and bared her piranha teeth. Merle almost stumbled as she tried to ignore the hostile atmosphere strangling the breath out of her. Her steps turned sluggish, she faltered—
Then, Rhun’s hand on hers, grasping her in a steadfast hold, grounding her. He threw a glance over his shoulder, gave her a cocky grin, winked—and she could breathe again. She mouthed a “thank you” and smiled.
An intriguing tremor tore through his aura and he quickly turned his head away. His hand, however, tightened its hold on hers, and she wondered whether Rhun was aware his thumb stroked the back of her hand.
They were passing by a booth when Rhun stopped so suddenly that Merle bumped into his back. While she pondered the best way to remain glued to him like that, he tsked at the person sitting in the booth, presently hidden from Merle’s view by Rhun’s yummy backside.
“Harassing nymphs again?” Rhun asked.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” a velvety male voice answered him. “If it isn’t the blood-sucking pain slut.”
Rhun’s chuckle vibrated against Merle where she was plastered to his back.
“Says the pathetic excuse for a callboy,” Rhun retorted. “Twenty years later and you still frequent the same shithole.” Shaking his head, he added, “And, by the way, you are damned.”
“Pot. Kettle. Black.”
Merle inched a bit away as the other demon—still out of her line of sight—appa
rently got up and gave Rhun a crushing man hug.
“It’s good to see you again,” the demon said after a moment. “What happened? Last I heard you enjoyed a vacation in the Shadows.”
There was only the smallest flicker of agony in Rhun’s energy. “Got released early because of good conduct.” His voice betrayed nothing of any pain whatsoever.
Now Merle’s curiosity got the better of her, and she peered around Rhun to take a look at the other demon.
“And who is this astounding beauty?” the dark-haired male asked as his gaze fell on Merle. “Your parole officer, Rhun?”
Her own personal demon chuckled at that. “Sort of.”
Merle’s reaction, at that moment, was limited to mindless drooling. The male in front of her was a package of sensual perfection, silken black hair, lustrous bronze-brown skin begging to be licked, strong masculine features with a touch of Persian royalty, eyes the color of crushed gold. Wearing black slacks and a dark blue dress shirt, he could have starred in an Armani ad that would undoubtedly cause a never-ending string of accidents if hoisted above a street intersection. And yet, underneath the attractive veneer, below the surface of her fierce reaction to him, there pulsed a sense of darkness that tasted wrong.
“Well now,” he said, his voice a rich tone that might be considered foreplay in itself in the right circumstances, “that makes me want to be bad, too, just to have a parole officer like you to take care of me.” He took her hand and gave it a kiss without breaking eye contact. “I’m Bahram. It’s a pleasure to meet you, darling.”
Every female hormone in her body was ragingly alert, homing in on the magnificent male specimen in front of her. He oozed such a vibrant, intoxicating sexuality, it was all she could do not to tear off his clothes and ride him to the ground.
“What’s your name, honey?” He still held her hand, rubbing the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger in moves so erotic she almost moaned.
“You’re gorgeous,” Merle breathed. It was all she could say.
He gave her a swoon-worthy smile. “No comparison to how ravishing you are, beautiful.”