She bit his lower lip. A soft moan escaped him. His lips traced down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. She gasped under his touch.
“You’re beautiful and stubborn,” he told her in between kisses. “Every inch.”
She grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked it over his head. Her hands caressed his body, starting at his shoulders and traveling all the way down his chest, as if seeing him for the first time. “You look pretty good yourself.”
He leaned down, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her close. The kisses turned urgent and hungry.
Her fingers played along the top of his jeans, and he closed his eyes, knowing if he started down some paths, he couldn’t stop.
He grabbed her hands, some sense returning. “You’re drunk, Becca.” Somewhere there better be an angel blessing him for this.
“I’m not that drunk.” Her lips were swollen from kissing. “I want this. You want this.”
“No, not like this.” He wanted her. But he wanted her sober, safe, and happy. They couldn’t just jump into their relationship like the last few months had never happened. He wouldn’t be a distraction for her.
Grabbing his shirt, he headed out the door.
Something crashed against the door as he closed it. Becca never did like being told no. He didn’t have the energy to smile at the irony of dreaming of Becca for months, and now he was the one walking away.
Outside the room, he banged his head on a nearby wall. He wasn’t ready to leave her alone. He stayed in the hall for a while, making sure she didn’t try to leave.
After several minutes of annoyed grumblings, Becca settled down. Assuming she finally nodded off, he headed down the stairs, searching for a distraction or a cold shower.
Chapter Sixteen
The rush of the river and smell of budding trees was a balm to Becca’s soul. She rested at the river’s edge, dangling her feet in the cool water. Her family home stood tall and whole, a comforting presence behind her back. In the distance, her mother hung laundry on the clothesline.
Part of her consciousness realized it was a dream, and she savored every second.
“Be careful near the river,” her mom hollered. Her long blonde hair was wrapped up in a messy bun. The white sheet in her hands flapped in the wind.
“Sure,” Becca replied. She picked a long blade of grass, placed it in her mouth, and lay back, eyes closed. The heat of the sun warmed her straight through.
She was home.
I wonder if Caleb wants to go fishing this afternoon if his chores are done. Or maybe I can convince Elizabeth to go. A cool breeze brushed over her body as a shadow fell over her.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Becca said, eyes closed.
“Becca?” The voice shook with a youthful uncertainty. It wasn’t Mom.
Becca’s eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. The young woman in front of her had long light honey hair like her mother, and bright blue eyes. Could this be her sister, Little Lizzy? The last Becca saw her, four years ago, she was fourteen years old. Now there stood a woman.
“Elizabeth?” Becca asked. “Is it you?”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Rebecca?”
Becca stood, examining every feature and facet of her sister. Elizabeth nearly reached Becca’s height. Her face was thinner and a light scattering of freckles covered her nose. A dull ache swelled in Becca’s chest at how her sister had changed and what she had missed.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I should have saved you.” A silent tear fell on Becca’s cheek. There weren’t enough tears to shed to show the regret in her heart.
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed in confusion. “From what?”
“The magicians. The fire. For leaving you.” The list could have gone on.
Between one breath and the next, the landscape changed drastically. Clouds darkened the sky, and the once large home was reduced to ashes. Even the clothesline resembled a skeleton, lone wires slack in the wind. The mirage of happiness turned into the nightmare of her reality.
“The magicians?” Elizabeth retreated backward, as if the word itself struck fear in her. She noticed the home and staggered for a moment. When she finally spoke, her voice broke, “What happened?”
“Elizabeth, I came back for you. I tried.” Becca reached for her hand. A pleading entered her voice.
Elizabeth pulled back, clutching her chest. “You left. You died.”
Becca’s legs shook, panic rising in her throat. Is that what my parents told her? And for a moment, Becca almost wished those words were real. “I didn’t want to leave you.” Tears spilled onto Becca’s cheeks. The image of her sister faded in front of her. “I never wanted to leave you.”
The slam of the door woke Becca. She buried her head, trying to compose herself, and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. As much as she hated the overwhelming guilt, she savored the image of Elizabeth as a woman.
She dared to peek and found Darion standing at the table, dressed in dark pants, a blue button up shirt, and a jacket. She wished he didn’t look so good. He dropped a bag onto the table.
She closed her eyes again, as a wave of nausea rolled over her and the events of last night came back to her with vivid detail. Warm embarrassment flooded her face, and she prayed her hair, which felt like a hay stack and probably looked worse, covered most of it. How could she have been so forward? Yes, part of her still wanted Darion, but she wasn’t quite ready to tackle their past or forgive him. Taking a deep breath, she decided on the best course of action: avoidance.
She headed to the bathroom, not gutsy enough to glance in his direction again. She’d slept in her clothes and needed to pull herself together before talking to Darion, especially with what happened last night.
She splashed water on her face and drank straight from the faucet. It tasted as if a cat vomited in her mouth. She found an old tube of toothpaste and used her finger to brush her teeth. She looked like hell. Dark circles ringed red eyes. She found a large comb and began working on the knots in her hair.
She swore at the small tangles, pissed not only at her hair, but at herself for acting like such an idiot last night. Not for the first time, she swore off alcohol. But she couldn’t blame her behavior on a few drinks.
She’d missed Darion. She could admit that. His lies had forced her to leave him, but her heart didn’t always get the memos her brain sent.
She had to trust him. She needed his help to get Caleb back, but it didn’t change their relationship.
She finally emerged from the bathroom, and found Darion making the bed and beating the pillows with an unnatural furor.
“What’s wrong?”
He pulled up the comforter and tucked it in tightly, not answering her question.
“Darion.” She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer. She could be patient when she had to be.
After finishing the bed, he turned to face her. “Cynthia told me how eager you were to start working again. You approached some heavy players last night.”
“You said we needed money,” she snapped back. Okay, maybe patience wasn’t her strong suit.
He ran a hand through his hair, looking as if he wanted to pull it out. “Becca, you’re not stupid. You can get yourself killed that way.”
“My options are limited. I’m not some bloody magician.” Heat rose up her face. “I need money to buy Caleb. I’ll get money.”
“Did it not occur to you that Jeremiah wants both of our heads on a platter? It’s a bar. People talk.” He grabbed his bag and jerked the zipper closed. “We need to leave before people come looking for us. It’ll be bad for Cynthia.”
She bit her lip. “Right. Cynthia.”
Plopping down in the chair, he let out a frustrated sigh.
“You don’t understand Jeremiah’s power and influence in the city.”
“I get it.” She grabbed her boots by the bed and shoved them on, her fingers trembling with anger and embarrassment. He must have thought her a drunken idiot, searching for jobs and t
hrowing herself at him.
“About last night—” he began.
“I’m sorry about last night.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, a heavy coldness settling in her chest. “It was a mistake, nothing more.”
“Right.” His blank stare gave nothing away. “A mistake.”
“Look, I’m grateful for your help and for saving me yesterday.” Pushing away her disappointment at how things passed between them this morning, she concentrated on what needed to be done. “I know we need money. I’ll do whatever I can to get it, but I need your help in getting into Moondance.”
She’d heard enough of the market to know it required magic to enter. And Mundanes who were not leashed by a magician, didn’t go.
“You’ll need more than just locating it.”
She dug her nails into her hand. She couldn’t be more vulnerable if she stood naked in front of him. She had to ask so much of Darion, when all she wanted to do was hate him. She couldn’t hate him anymore, though. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something.
At the thought of Caleb vulnerable in the hands of magicians, her pride shattered. “I hate to ask you to put your neck on the line. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”
Darion’s features turned to stone. She wondered for a moment, if he would say no. He would have every reason to turn her away, and she half expected it.
“I’ll help,” he replied. “And, with me, you always have a right to ask.”
Neither spoke for a minute. Only a few feet separated them, but emotionally it felt like miles.
“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to hug him, thank him for his help. But she’d made the boundaries clear and didn’t trust herself not to cross them.
“Okay.” He stood, breaking the awkward tension. “Let’s go find a car.”
“A car?” she asked skeptically. She didn’t know anyone who owned a car in the city.
“Yeah. I’ll have to call in a few favors, but I can pull it off. Then I have an old friend I used to work with we need to go visit.”
“What kind of work?” Becca followed him out, wondering just how much she’d learn about Darion.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing respectable.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lady Katherine’s house remained quiet as Darion wondered the best way to enter it without detection.
Standing next to him, Becca shifted her stance. “Is this part of the magician’s code? Steal from old ladies who have too many cats?”
Darion bristled at the insult. His patience waned thin after spending a good chuck of their morning finding a car and then talking the man down for the piece of junk. He couldn’t chance retrieving his bike at his apartment. So instead, he now owned an ugly green four door sedan that cost double what it should.
“After working for Nikko, you’re getting picky about work?” he asked. “If you knew how many Mundanes this lady killed during The Rising, you wouldn’t feel guilty. Plus, her money will go to the governing coven when she dies.” He turned his attention back to the house.
An unfriendly current settled between them. Becca zipped up her jacket against the chill. Maybe it was the heavy clouds threatening rain, but the outside guard hadn’t done his rounds for the last fifteen minutes. The outside barriers, a light shimmer around the house, appeared to be in working order.
Could it be she wasn’t home? Darion wondered. Lady Katherine rarely left home, but maybe. There would be a house maid and another security guard he would have to deal with, but that shouldn’t be difficult.
“It looks like Lady Katherine may be gone.”
“We could use a break.” Becca gripped the knife he bought her. It was nothing near what she needed to protect herself, but all he could find on short notice. “Let’s go.”
“There’s still the outside ward to break, a couple servants, and a dozen or so cats,” he reminded her.
“Not bad. I can manage cats.” Becca’s mouth remained impassive, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her eyes.
“The servants usually stay downstairs. Upstairs is Lady Katherine’s personal rooms. That’s where you’ll find the money.” After much discussion, they agreed to split up. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was probably the best choice.
“Will the upstairs windows have alarms?” she asked.
“Not after I break the shield.” Darion straightened. “Ready?”
She nodded, and they left the cover of the shed. Before stepping on the manicured grass, he put a hand out to stop Becca. He whispered the Latin words to disable the first shield. Magic brushed his skin and the power of the shield dissipated like popping a balloon filled with invisible glitter. That was the easy one, as it was there to keep out wild animals or Mundanes.
Becca bounced on the balls of her feet, her energy almost palpable. He nodded to give her the go ahead. Between one step and the next, a draining blow threatened to pull him under. He swore.
Someone had killed his demon. Instead of having a Soultorn, an idea he never liked, he hid a level-four demon in his apartment and pulled from it regularly for power. He had enough precautions that if anyone else besides him entered, the small apartment detonated. Whatever wizard Jeremiah had sent had just been blown to pieces.
“Are you okay?” Becca asked, close enough to touch.
“Fine,” he said, recovering his step. Darion could only imagine her disgust at the idea of him being tied to a demon.
They approached the next shield, the main protection over the house. He had helped set these wards up, but disabling it without a demon would drain him. He pulled out a knife. “Keep watch. This will take a minute.”
She crinkled her nose as if an unsettling smell crossed her path and shifted her feet. “Just remember, we’re sitting ducks.”
Could she actually sense the magic in front of her? He had heard of Mundanes who could sense magic. He didn’t have time to consider it. They were too exposed on the lawn.
He pricked his finger to offer a blood sacrifice, gathering what magic he could find, and began the incantation. It only took a minute, maybe two, but sweat crossed his brow by the time he finished.
“Won’t that leave a trace?” she asked, referring to his blood.
“They won’t be able to trace me. Maybe identify me, but we’ll be gone by then.”
They approached the house. Lace curtains lined the windows. A large wood porch wrapped around the house complete with a white trim.
“Maybe we should go together,” Darion offered again. He was hesitant to let Becca go alone when facing magicians, even if it was just a maid with limited magic. “It might be safer.”
“Stick to the plan. Secure the first floor. Then meet me upstairs.” Becca’s hands were tight, anxious.
He agreed. She climbed on top of the porch railing and then hoisted herself up onto the roof with a lithe strength that amazed him. There was no sign of security around the house, yet his stomach churned with anxiety. He reminded himself how strong and able she was, and the best way to protect her would be to eliminate the threats as fast as possible.
He approached the front door and noticed it hung slightly ajar. Something was off. Lady Katherine was diligent in keeping her house in order, and her employees had to toe a very straight line. He pushed through the door to find the entry room empty.
“Where’s the welcoming party?” Darion whispered, heading straight into her sitting room. Something crashed to the floor. Darion’s heart raced as he took in the bloody scene in front of him.
Lady Katherine lay in the center of the room on the mahogany coffee table, her white hair unpinned, spilling around her shoulders. A dark pool of blood spread from the wound at her throat, staining her hair crimson and pooling on the carpet.
A familiar Soultorn, leaned over the body, knife in hand and blood staining its lips. The Soultorn, inhabiting a short stocky man, radiated with sick happiness. Its pitch black eyes matched his short dark hair. A short beard covered his chin, painted with blood. It w
ore all black, which hid the stains of his deeds.
“The prodigal son returns.” Peter’s face was flushed with excitement as he stood on the far side of the room. He probably didn’t want to dirty his perfect gray pinstripe suit, or smooth blond hair.
Darion couldn’t help but wonder about Peter’s relationship with Jeremiah, since he’d first came calling for Darion at Lady Katherine’s house days ago. He thought Peter was Ryma’s lackey, but who knows how deep that loyalty went? So many butts to kiss, so little time.
Peter must have passed the wards on official coven business and then murdered Lady Katherine. Was her death ordered by Ryma? Or just for fun.
A heavy rose potpourri scent, mixed with the scent of blood, turned his stomach. A broken candy dish lay in colored glass pieces at Peter’s feet.
Darion swallowed and smoothed out his features. Get control of yourself. Who cares that you lost your demon, and here’s Peter with his recently fed Soultorn? Not one of his better pep talks.
“You know there are easier ways to get my attention,” Darion said. “Some people send cards, flowers—I like chocolates.”
He sauntered in, taking a seat in a nearby armchair. Crossing his legs, he plastered on a smile. A tabby cat jumped on his lap, and he buried his hand in its soft fur. Peter didn’t know Darion’s demon was gone yet. He couldn’t. Could he?
“Jeremiah wants the girl.”
“And, here, I thought you missed me.”
“He wants you, too, though not necessarily in the same condition.” The edges of Peter’s lips curled up.
“That’s a slight problem. You see I had a date with dear Katherine here. Services I intend to provide.” Darion tried to prolong the inevitable. If he could distract these two, it’d give Becca more time to find the money and escape.
Peter’s Soultorn licked the edge of the knife and, catching Darion’s eye, it winked.
“Why kill Lady Katherine?” Darion continued. “Because she employed me? I thought she was a great contributor to Ryma?”
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