Captivating the Witch

by Michele Hauf

  Kissing the crown of his semierect penis, she then ventured her discovery trail down a thigh. On the thigh closest to her, the dark markings looked similar to the tribal tattoos she had seen on human biker types, though she felt sure this meant something different than “it looks cool” or “it makes me look tough.”

  “You don’t want to know about those,” he said. “Ah hell. Tamatha, I’ve killed when it was necessary to save lives. And when I make a kill, the remnants of that kill are blackened into my skin. I feel the mark burn into me as if I were experiencing a six-hour tattoo session in seconds. Hurts like fuck.”

  Those were some thick lines, and...a lot of them. She wasn’t going to overthink it. And then she couldn’t help but think only of it. He had killed. Necessary kills? Was killing ever necessary? She didn’t think so.

  “To save the lives of others?” she quietly wondered.

  “Yes.” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

  What about killing zombie witches who were killing demons? That was different. Maybe. She had nothing to compare to the instances that had marked Ed’s thigh. And she wasn’t sure she wanted the full explanation or even details. Her curiosity could only take her so far before she drowned in fascination or fled from revulsion.

  And yet if she agreed to help him, she would also be killing. Twelve witches. But was it considered killing if they were already dead?

  Ed sat up and slid off the bed. Standing before her, his hands to his hips, he looked like a tattooed god, a rockabilly hero, a motorcycle gangster, perhaps even an evil overlord. Sexy in his dark and dangerous skin. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  So she was attracted to a man who would kill? Who was she?

  “It’s apparent there are things about me that disturb you,” he said.

  She started to protest, but then couldn’t force herself to make up a lie to soften the fact that, indeed, he was right about her being disturbed.

  “I thought I was jumping in full circle when I took you to the cemetery. But that was outside of me. The real truth, what I really am? I want to show you,” he said. “It’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I feel as though I can trust you.”

  “Ed, whatever you want to say to me, I’ll listen with an open mind and heart. The thing about you killing? Yes, it disturbs me, but give me some time to process it. I believe you only act for the good of others.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded and that sexy smile of his lured her forward to kiss him.

  “Call me crazy, but I have to do this. This is me.” He stood back and spread out his arms. “Full demon.”

  “Oh.” She sat up, crossing her legs and pushing her hair over her shoulder. “Yes, I’d like to see that.”

  “Not for your fascination or study,” he cautioned, “but because I want to be open with you. To not have secrets.”

  “I understand.”

  “Really? Because this is not like me showing up at your door to find you with avocado on your face.”

  She grasped his hand, offering him a reassuring squeeze. “I do understand. But allow me some fascination. I am studying your species.” She let her eyes wander to his erection. “There’s so much about you that I like to admire.”

  He chuckled. “All right, then. But you have to know I’m doing this because I need you to trust me. And... I want you to see the real me, horns and all. Here goes all the marbles.” He tugged off the fingerless gloves she had come to accept as a part of him. “Be careful you don’t touch my hands when my thorns are out.”

  She nodded dutifully. And though she was eager and felt like clasping her hands before her in expectant glee, she did her best to contain that giddy curiosity and so shoved her hands under her thighs to watch as her lover transformed before her.

  Horns grew from the nubs at his temples, thickening and gleaming as if hematite. They curled slightly over his ears and then abruptly curled back toward his face and upward in about a two-foot stretch. They looked heavy and deadly, like something a matador must fear.

  A shrug of his shoulders sifted a darkness over his skin. The diluted, inky coloring spilled down his arms and the sides of his torso and from hips to midthigh. All the sigils and tattoos seemed to darken even more, becoming fathomless, like entries into his very being. The dark pigment hardened and must have been of the same material as his horns. His shoulders shifted slightly, pointing up in smaller versions of horns, as did his hips.

  At his knuckles the thorns he had warned her about zinged out like tiny claws. And as Tamatha drew her gaze over his figure, noting the hardened leatherlike skin and horns—even his erection looked thicker and tougher—she picked up the scent of sulfur. And it wasn’t offensive, but rather sweet, almost cloying.

  Red eyes looked upon her. He was mostly human in form, save for horns and leathery skin, though his center and torso and front and back were yet merely skin sans the dark hairs she loved to run her fingers through. She peeked over the edge of the bed. Regular feet; no hooves. But they were blackened and thorned on the toes, as well.

  “This is me.” His voice was the same but not. Huskier, deeper and perhaps a little hollow. “Horns and all.”

  She sat up on her knees and inched closer to the edge of the bed. “Can I touch?”

  “I would expect nothing less from you.”

  He held his hands back and away from his body as she moved forward and— The first thing she wanted to touch was the horns at his temples, but she remembered his warning about how that would make him horny. She’d save that for last, because this form did not offend her or make her want to run from him. He was beautiful.

  The hard skin on his shoulders felt cool under her touch, like armor, yet it was pliable and moved like skin. From the border where that armor ended and formed into skin, black veins traced under the surface and tangled with the demonic sigils, giving his unarmored skin a virtual armor appearance.

  Down his belly she stroked then grasped his penis. He gasped. And she wondered, “A little bigger?”

  “Never measured in this form.”

  “I think it is. Almost as big as these.”

  Now she dared reach up and touched the base of one horn. It was slick and glossy, and ribbed as his penis. The black horn curved gracefully before dipping and jutting abruptly forward and up. She glided her fingers about and around and up.

  Ed sighed against her cheek. “You know what that does to me?”

  “Makes you horny.” She kissed him quickly, then stepped onto the floor and gave his backside a once-over. “You’ve a tail!”

  The tail waggled, though it was very un-demon-like. And it had black fur on it.

  “I did tell you my father was werewolf,” he said. “That’s about all I got from him.”

  “It’s so cute!”

  “Tamatha.”

  “Sorry. Not cute. Nothing about your demonic form is remotely adorable.” She slid back onto the bed and tapped his muscled stomach. “You are powerful and deadly and look very, very dangerous. So manly.”

  “Then why do you say that as if it’s a tease? Do I not strike fear in your quivering witchy heart?”

  “Should you?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m glad you didn’t scream at sight of me.” He slid a knee onto the bed and, with an exhalation and shake of his body, shed his demonic form, coming back to his human shape in but two breaths. “This is much better, yes?” He kissed her. “Thanks for not freaking.”

  “Horns and a tail don’t scare me.” She reached for his hand, but he shook his head. The thorns were yet visible. “Hmm...” She tapped her lower lip. “There must be an antidote to the poison contained in your thorns, yes?”

  “Maybe?”

  “I’ll have to do some research. An antidote might be something to have handy if we are dating.�
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  “Are we dating?”

  “Yes, we are, like it or not.”

  “I adore you, witch.” He pulled her closer and nuzzled his face into her hair, kissing the lemony warmth. “You really don’t mind the horns?”

  “They’re sexy, actually. Do you think we could have sex with you in that form? Would it be dangerous to me?”

  “Only my thorns,” he said. “You just want to take my demon dick for a test drive.”

  “There is that.”

  “So that’s why you like me, eh? I’ve got a big package.”

  “It’s sizable no matter what form you’re in.” She reached for the package in question. “But I like your mind, too. And your quest to keep the peace. That is honorable. And you are handsome as sin. Now, I have a secret to reveal to you.”

  “Something more devastating than your horribly sweet avocado face?”

  “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

  “It’s all I’ve got. You’re perfect in every other way.”

  “Maybe not so powerful as you think.” She worried her lip a moment, then blurted, “Ed, I’m not the most powerful witch in Paris.”

  “Yes. So?”

  He acted as though he’d known it all along. Tamatha eyed him curiously. “I mean, I’m probably not even top ten, if you want to get technical. That day you had me brought to your office I wanted to do anything to get to see you again, so I lied and hoped you’d never find out.”

  “Sweetness, I knew from the moment you stood before me.”

  “Then why did you let me work for you?”

  “Because I felt the same way. Despite my initial reluctance to work with a witch, I didn’t want to let you walk away from me.”

  “What did a witch do to you?”

  “Why do you think it’s that?”

  “Because you’re a strong, smart man. A healthy caution for witches is one thing, but you got it bad. So that makes me suspect a bad romance.”

  Ed exhaled.

  “Please tell me? You’ve shown me your outsides. Let me have a peek inside. Promise I will listen with an open mind.”

  He kissed her and hugged her but was careful not to touch her with his thorns. “I did date a witch two years ago. I didn’t know she was a witch and thought my demonic nature was secret from her. I use the excuse of birth defects for my horn nubs.”

  “And that works?”

  “Human women are much quicker to believe that than the possibility that real demons exist.”

  “I suppose.”

  “One once actually made the guess that they were body modifications. Implanted. You know, some humans have things implanted beneath their skin to create art or because they’re stupid?”

  “That creeps me out. So the witch you dated didn’t know you were demon? I find that hard to believe.”

  “She did. But I didn’t know she knew until she’d drugged me and let the magic fly. She tried to enslave me.” He sat beside her, exhaling heavily as he ran a hand through his hair. “For three days she worked her magic on me. It was torture, literally. I think her magic finally gave out and I managed to break free. It was hell.”

  “Oh, Ed. I didn’t know. That’s terrible. So you, uh...”

  “What? You think I killed her?”

  “I suppose the torture would have justified it.”

  “Never. Nothing justifies murder, Tamatha. A killing made to stop evil to prevent more deaths? That’s doable. It can be argued it was a means to save others. But still...” He stroked the dark tribal mark on his thigh. “Impossible to justify. But someone’s got to do it, so I guess that means it’s me.”

  She tilted her head onto his shoulder.

  “Anyway, after her magic failed, I got out of there. Left her. I haven’t heard from her since, though I suspect she might have given Certainly Jones an earful. So you see? Not a big fan of your kind.” He turned his back toward her. “One of the feathers is chained still, yes?”

  She looked closely, and yes, a feather was wrapped in chain. “Oh, Ed.” She held him. “That’s because she tried to enslave you? I’m so sorry. This whole situation with the zombie witches killing demons. You’ve lived such horrors. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

  “You know something?” he asked softly.

  “What?”

  “You holding me like this makes up for it all. I don’t know how to love another person, but you make me feel like I could learn.”

  “Everyone is capable of love. And it will come when you least expect it.”

  “That’s the same thing my brother said to me the other night. What about you and your Love Often? It must come to you all the time.”

  “It does, because I am open to love.” She spread her hand over his chest where the faint sigil had begun to form. “Open yourself to the possibility.”

  “I think I can do that.” With a heavy exhalation he tilted up her chin and studied her gaze before speaking. “I understand I’m asking a lot of you to go after Les Douze if one of them could be your grandmother.”

  “There’s no doubt, Ed. One of the twelve was Lysia Bellerose.”

  “Do all the women in your family have the same last name?”

  “Yes.” She stood and toed the dress on the floor. “And should we marry, we keep the family name. We’re not so keen on giving a man so much power as to take his name.” She shuddered, and Ed caught the minute movement.

  Yes, a powerful witch, he reiterated mentally. Perhaps more powerful than she believed herself. And he honored that strength. Now to use it without tainting their fragile bond. A bond trust may have grown closer when he had revealed himself to her, outside and in. He hadn’t planned to tell her about that experience. It had simply felt necessary. Now that he had, he was feeling unguarded, not exactly standing square and confident as he should be.

  Open to the possibility of love? It still seemed out of his grasp.

  Yet he could only imagine what Tamatha must be feeling now he knew the witch was her grandmother.

  “Do you think your grandmother likes wandering around a zombie?” he asked.

  She looked up from gathering her abandoned clothes that were neatly folded near the bed (OCD magic at its best). “I never thought of it like that. I haven’t seen these zombie witches. How can you be sure they are dead?”

  “They were burned in the eighteenth century. I’d call that dead.”

  “Right. Sorry. It’s hard to grasp, you know? I wish my mother would return my call.” She pulled on her bra and panties. “There could be implications.”

  “You think if you cast a spell against your grandmother...?”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure. I might have to ask Certainly about this one. That is, if I agree to help you on this. I’m not going to commit until I talk to Mom. Is that okay?”

  “I am thankful you are considering it. I don’t know who else I can ask. There are other witches in Paris, but—I don’t want to work with any witch. I want you.”

  She shimmied her shoulders. “Good answer. I’d be jealous if you asked someone else. And so you know, Ed, I promise you—” she crossed her heart “—I will never enslave you as that witch did.”

  She’d crossed her heart. That meant so much. He nodded. “Sounds good to me. Back to the plan.”

  “Do we have a plan? I need to find out who is behind this,” she said as she pulled on her wrap dress and searched the bedroom floor for her boots. She picked up his gloves and tossed them to him. “Like I said when I was in the cemetery, I suspected the magic was malefic. Not even dark witches will go there.”

  “Then who would do such a thing as to raise a coven of long-dead witches?” he asked, pulling on the gloves.

  “And why?” she added.

  “We
ll, we know the why,” he said, slipping on a shirt. “If they are going after the demons who accused them.”

  “Yes, but the one who raised them must have that goal, yes?” She began to button up his business shirt, a crisp white number, and he allowed her. “So someone—living—wants revenge against demons in general or just those who accused the witches. That would probably make the someone an offspring of one of the dozen. Or possibly a contemporary, seeing as how long witches can live.”

  “Do you have a list of those who accused Les Douze?” he asked.

  “Yes. I found one in the Archives yesterday. What is the name of your relative you mentioned was in the denizen that is being targeted? Because Thrash was not on the list.”

  “That is a moniker I have used since forever. We demons sometimes take different names for anonymity and—”

  “Drama?”

  “Nothing wrong with a little evil-overlord drama, is there?”

  “Edamite Thrash. That’s drama, all right. Is your first name even Edamite?”

  “It is. My mother has always been simply Sophie. And since she never married my father, neither she nor I felt compelled to use his surname.”

  “So there are no family names in the demon species?”

  “There are. I’m just not sure what ours is or was.” Ed nodded. “I’ll give Sophie a call and ask her. Though I’m not sure she’ll answer. She and my father are in hiding. She’s been off my radar for over a year.”

  “You two aren’t close?”

  “We don’t hate one another.”

  Which didn’t particularly mean close, either. She sensed it was a sensitive subject for him.

  “Probably the witch names are more important in this case,” she said. “In order to track them to a possible summoner. Though if we want to nail down possible targets, then we should figure out the demons, as well. I think this could only be a spell cast by a warlock.”

  “Ian Grim?” Ed immediately posited, as he gestured she leave the top two buttons undone on his shirt. “That’s the only warlock I’m aware of, and I know for a fact he’s out of town.”

  “You and Grim are friends?”