by Michele Hauf
“I’m not going in there with those creeps leering at me. A plastic bag,” she reiterated. “Seriously!”
Releasing his hold on the stubborn witch, Ed gestured toward the idiots. “Leave. Go do...that thing I needed you to do.”
“What thing, boss—?”
Inego shoved his partner out of the doorway. “You know, that thing. Sure, boss. We’re out of here.”
“There is no thing,” Glitch argued as they strolled down the hallway.
Exasperated by his employees’ incompetence, Ed pushed his hands over his hair, and then remembering his guest, he took a moment to vacillate on what he was about to do. Make nice. With a witch. Because he needed one.
First, he had to determine if he could trust her.
He gestured to Tamatha that she enter his office. “Please?”
With an impertinent lift of her chin, she strode through the doors, quickening her pace as she passed him and walking to the center of the black marble floor that stretched far too long to his desk. This office was too large and ostentatious, but he’d got the rental for a steal because a mass murder had taken place in it a few years ago. He had sensed the malefic vibrations in the air—and still did on occasion—and he’d had it smudged more than a few times, but that never seemed to clear the negative energies.
“I don’t know your name,” she said. “You know mine. Tamatha Bellerose.”
“Bellerose,” he repeated, but didn’t recognize the surname. “Pretty, like its owner. My name is Edamite. You can call me Ed.”
“Edamite? I’ve never heard that form of the name before. I would say ‘glad to meet you, Ed,’ but I’m not terribly thrilled about this situation.” She cast her gaze about the room, briefly noting the few items displayed on the wall. “Generally my dates are a bit less...kidnappy.”
She shivered and embraced herself. The blouse she wore was a sheer, filmy black thing that showed a glimpse of the black lace bra beneath. And on her arms, beneath the sheer black, he made out a tattoo, but couldn’t remark its design. Smaller symbols had been inked on the midsection of each of her fingers. Spell tats, no doubt. And there at her neck was a white ink symbol he recognized. A vampire ward. Smart witch.
He rubbed his forearm where beneath the shirt was the witch ward. It usually tingled when a witch was near. And it did now. But why hadn’t it when he’d run into her the other night?
“Cold?” He passed her by and walked to his desk, intent on maintaining his calm and not rushing over to steal her into his embrace and devour her again. What was up with that? He was not lusting over a witch. That way lay trouble.
“Something awful happened in this room,” she said, her gaze still taking the area in. “Have you smudged the place?”
“Half a dozen times. Never seems to chase away whatever morbid stuff remains. I’ve given up on trying.”
“I could do it for you and it would work. Whoever has smudged it previously wasn’t bleeding into the very pores of the stone beneath our feet. Earth magic is required. Murders,” she said suddenly and with knowing. “I don’t want to stay in this room much longer.”
“Okay, fine, Tamatha, but give me two minutes, please?”
“If that’s how long it will take for you to explain why you had me kidnapped, then...go.”
“It wasn’t a—” Ed surrendered the argument with an exhalation. “My men are assholes. I apologize for their ineptitude. To get to the point...” He spread out his hands before him. “I need a witch.”
He didn’t know if he could trust her yet. What was he saying? Why hadn’t he a plan? Damn, she was so gorgeous. He’d say anything to have another kiss.
Really?
“Well, well.” She lifted her chin and assumed a haughty pose, which was made all the more attractive by the tight skirt and slender gams and that curly goddess hair that Ed could still feel crushed between his fingers.
“Well, well, what?” he asked.
“I’m studying diabology and demonomancy. It so happens I need a demon.”
“You mean to study? To put under a microscope and observe?”
“Oh, not like that. Maybe a little. Textbooks and dusty old grimoires are excellent resources for learning, but I’m more of a hands-on kind of girl. I would love to have a demon to talk to and ask questions. Learn things.”
He smoothed a palm over his hair. She was annoying and she was appealing. And he wasn’t sure which side was going to win out, but she was the only witch he had right now. And apparently a powerful one. He wanted to play her carefully, lest he became one of those demons from his mother’s faery tales. They had never survived to the end of the story.
“I don’t do the bug-under-the-microscope thing,” he offered.
“You want a powerful witch? You gotta bargain, buddy.”
So that was the way of it? The magic he’d felt filling the atmosphere in the Montparnasse cemetery had been incredible. Immense. He needed dark magic to fight it, but more likely, light magic to win against it. And Tamatha looked like a witch of the Light.
“Are you a witch of the Light?”
She nodded. “Mostly.”
Well, she was honest. And her hair spilled like liquid silver over her shoulders. It was gorgeous— Ah! He had to focus.
“You said you are studying demonomancy? That’s controlling demons. How do I know you won’t try to control me? Er...again.”
“I’d never do such a thing. I’ve never summoned a demon, either. It’s wrong to exert your control over others.”
He lifted a brow at that one.
She shrugged. “Well, you know, I have to practice my spells. The binding was a reaction.”
“So you said. But it was an exertion of control.”
“Guilty. I do have a thing for keeping things orderly, which I’ve been told is also a means of control.” She glanced around the room. “I’d show you my OCD magic, but this place is spotless. Too cold.”
Yes, yes, so he didn’t do the decorating thing beyond the few magical items on the wall he displayed from the stash he’d acquired over the years.
“I don’t think I can trust you, witch.”
“You pronounce ‘witch’ as if it’s an oath or curse word.”
Now it was his turn to offer a shrug. “Your kind and mine have never been friends.”
“I promise you I won’t try to control you again, Ed.”
“Witch’s honor?”
She drew a cross over her heart, which gave him a shiver.
“You know what it means when I cross my heart?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Something bad, I’m sure.”
“When we witches cross our heart, it is the truest and most sealing bond to our word.”
That didn’t sound so awful. Rather noble, even. Hmm...
“It would mean a lot to me,” she said, “if you would agree to answer some questions and let me, well...”
“Study me?”
“Not under a microscope.”
Mercy, he didn’t want this alliance. All his rational instincts screamed—stay away from the witch! Yet the louder voice moaned in anticipation for one more kiss. Could he control her with seduction? Because he had to keep her under thumb to keep his risk low.
But, oh, the things on her he’d like to feel gliding beneath his thumbs.
“Fine,” he said. “So you agree to be the witch I need, if I agree to be the demon you need?”
She nodded. Her high-voltage smile beamed to match those world-filled eyes.
“You don’t even know why I need a witch,” he countered.
“I assume it’s to cast a spell. Do you need me to clean this office?”
“Uh...” He strolled the floor, walking slower as he passed beside her. She smelled like lemons hanging fre
sh in the tree, sweet yet spiked with a bite of sour that a man desired to lick purely for the tangy thrill of it.
How to ask for the magic he needed without sending her running? What witch would agree to work against her kind? He hadn’t enough information on Les Douze to know if she would be open to his needs. What were his needs, beyond to destroy some dead witches? If they really were witches.
He had to work up to that slowly. Convince her that she wanted to stop those witches, and not because a demon had asked her to. How to do that?
She tilted her head. A lift of her brow not only took him in, but also teased. And a crook of her finger and a lick of her lips delivered the coup de grâce. Yeah, seduction. The woman was a master at it. And she hadn’t to do anything more than quirk one of those luscious brows. He could kiss her again. Right now. Pull her to him by curling his hand around the back of her neck and bruising her mouth with his until she gasped for freedom.
The most powerful witch in Paris? He’d expected someone more...dark. And haggish, actually. Older, too. Although, he shouldn’t judge by appearance. Paranormals who lived centuries had a tendency to age so slowly one could never know if the sexy young vixen eyeing him was in her third or fourth decade, or perhaps her third or fourth century.
But he’d never get anywhere if all he did was make out with the woman. The way he could get her to help him was to keep it businesslike. Professional. And he had to check out her skills, make sure she was up to par.
“Right, the murders,” he muttered, grabbing the opportunity. “Can you cleanse this office?”
“That’s the reason you kidnapped me? To ask me to clean your office?”
He nodded. No sense arguing the kidnapping. It had gone down that way, and he wasn’t proud of it. “Like I said, my men can be indelicate.”
“Seems a rather dramatic effort for something so anticlimactic.”
He could give her a climax if that was what she wanted— Ah! No. He had to stay on point. Business, Ed, business.
“I do like to clean rooms,” she said. “But I’m not sure. It seems a little suspicious.”
Because it was. Kidnapping a witch just to wave around a smudging stick and chant a spell?
“Why such a powerful witch to do a cleansing?” she asked. “I mean, the room is tainted, but any witch could do this.”
“You yourself noted the previous efforts have been worthless. You must understand my need for someone with a bit more skill?”
She bristled proudly, tugging at the ends of her lush hair. On the side of her littlest finger was another tattoo. Words. Probably a spell. Ed didn’t try to read them. One never knew what horrors reciting an unknown spell could unleash upon his head.
“Ask me something,” he volleyed.
“What do you mean?”
“Something you want to know about demons. It’s a trade for your trust.”
“Oh.” She wiggled her shoulders. The excitement that she exuded was like a natural pheromone, so effortless and addictive. He breathed her in as if he were the lucky observer of an exotic flower who only put off her scent a few minutes a day before closing up. “Okay. Let’s see... I know you’re a corax demon. Can you shift to a raven form?”
“I shift to a conspiracy of ravens.”
“Oooo.” When she made that sound, she pursed her lips deliciously. Ed squeezed his hands together behind his back. “Can I see your horns?”
“No!”
“But those nubs at your temples. That’s where they come out?”
He nodded. They grew to full length when he was angry. Or sometimes when he was aroused. He couldn’t control the anger horns, but the other time, when he was having sex, was an option he employed if he wanted to heighten the experience. Because to have his horns touched? Oh, baby. Yet, sadly, he’d attempted it only once before. She’d run screaming. He’d learned his lesson about what to reveal about himself when having sex with a human woman.
She pointed to his gloved hands. “Why do you wear those? More horns?”
Actually, thorns. The thorns on his knuckles grew when he got angry, and they were deadly sharp, leaving a poison in his victim’s cuts that could kill. The half gloves were a safety precaution because he didn’t like to kill people. Not unless they deserved it.
“Forget it,” she said suddenly. “I have to leave this room. I’m not properly warded and this malefic aura is creeping me out.”
“Fine. Can you return later to cleanse it?”
“I can,” she said, walking backward toward the door. “If you promise we’ll talk afterward.”
“Research and a cleansing? It’s a date.”
“It is?”
“Uh, er...a business date. I mean, you know. Why else would I have you brought here?”
“Did you request me specifically or did those idiots grab any witch off the street?”
They had grabbed a witch John Malcolm had deemed most powerful. Lucky for him it had been the one witch he wouldn’t mind spending some time with.
“Does it matter? I’ve stated my need. You’ve agreed to meet that need, as I in turn will meet yours by answering your questions. We are in accord.”
“Sure.” She nodded and gestured toward the door behind her. “Can I leave now?”
“Of course. You’re not my prisoner.”
“Will I run into your henchmen on the way out?”
“No. I promise. And again, I apologize.”
“I’m not one to hold a grudge. I forgive you for your odd means to hiring a witch to clean this office. Thank you, Ed. I’ll return later. Ten?”
“Sounds fine. I’ll be here. Alone.”
She raised a curious brow.
“No henchman,” he reassured her.
With a nod and wink, she left him standing there, watching her retreat. That sexy swing of hips and the brush of her long hair across her elbows was like poetry. A raunchy poem with a lascivious plot.
When she had turned the corner toward the elevator, Ed let out a low whistle. “Now to win her trust,” he muttered. “And destroy some dead witches.”
Chapter 5
Tamatha fixed her hair in the mirror and touched up with a little pencil to her right brow. Her hair was naturally white with silver tones, but she liked to soften her darker brows with gray pencil. A smooth of powder across her forehead and a touch of pale pink rouge to her cheeks. She never wore lipstick. Just a little lip balm. Because what man wanted to kiss a woman with greasy red lips?
And she’d already got two—no, three—kisses from Ed. A man who fascinated her as much as he disturbed her. Because he had sent minions to kidnap her! But then he’d kissed her. And then he’d acted nervous and kind of shy, so she could hardly blame him for the rough stuff. She could certainly blame the minions. But not Ed. Right?
She, the most powerful witch in Paris? Hardly. Certainly there were many witches more powerful. While she had mastered all four elements, she was sadly lacking in the various -mancys and study of specific magics. Perhaps only a warlock or thousand-year-old witch might be so powerful. But if she had copped to the truth, he would have tossed her out in search of the real deal. And by all means, she wanted to work with him.
To learn about demons, of course.
It wouldn’t be because she found him handsome and was intrigued by his many tattoos and didn’t want to end what his hot kisses had only begun.
Maybe a little.
“I have a date with a demon,” she said as she spun into the bedroom to check her closet for an appropriate dress. Something sexy and yet it was a business date, so no lace and nothing too low cut. But always body-hugging.
“A date with a demon who kidnapped me,” she corrected herself, her enthusiasm wilting as her fingers slid over the red silk wiggle dress. “What are you doing, Tamatha?”<
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“I should ask the same.” Amberlee, a fellow witch friend, had stopped by an hour ago with some fresh rue and megabytes. Amberlee practiced tech magic. She wandered into the bedroom and plopped onto the end of the queen-size bed. Her bright red bob contrasted with her severely arched black brows, but both matched her red-and-black-striped dress. “You’re talking to yourself, mon amie. Or are you working a spell? Am I interrupting?”
“No. Did you get the memory installed on my laptop?”
“Yes. Now you have ten times as much space to ignore on that tech device that always has dust on it.”
“I’m not much for technology. I prefer paper and pen.”
“Then why the upgrade?”
“I do like to store the photos I take with my phone. The laptop serves as an excellent photo album. I’d like to photograph my grimoire someday and keep that safe.”
“Let me know when you do that. Tech magic tends to distort grimoire text. The two magics clash. You won’t know it until it’s too late and your valued grimoire has been completely erased. You’ll need a spell to properly store any information.”
“Good to know.”
Tamatha pulled out the purple velvet dress and held it before her. The fitted fabric would hug her slender frame and accentuate her cleavage with a sweetheart neckline. The black lace collar had skulls worked into the intricate stitching.
“I adore that one,” Amberlee said. “Sensual with a touch of goth. So you’ve seduction in mind?”
“You think it’s too sexy?”
“I’d do you wearing that dress.”
“Yes, well, you’d do me, him and it, so I won’t take that one personally. Who, or what, is your date tonight?”
“A werewolf from pack Conquerier. Sweet guy. Intense sexual appetite. He likes to howl.”
“Nummy.”
“Yeah, I like to howl right along with him. Especially when he hits the sweet spot with his fingers. What about your date?”
“It’s not really a date. I’m going to cleanse an office for a guy. A demon, actually.” She caught her friend’s nod of approval.
“Demons do it devilishly,” Amberlee said. “Or wait. Is this to do with your venture into diabology? Please tell me you don’t intend to simply study this guy.”