“Thank you,” she said politely.
Jackson nodded to her, then looked at Kamen with a little frown on his lips. “Your plan…will it succeed?”
“There is no knowing that until it is done,” Kamen said shortly. “But if you mean can I execute the spell, then yes, I can. There are not many who could. Though I may need a little help from Tameri.”
“I’m sure she’d be happy to help.” Jackson would feel far better about whatever course of action Kamen was thinking of taking if Tameri, the Bodywalker half of his sister Docia, was involved. At least he could be assured of her honesty and her trustworthiness. He could be assured of her motives. With Kamen, even after almost a year he still was not certain. One year on their side did not make up for centuries on the opposing side. Although, if he were to be fair, most of those centuries had been spent in the Ether waiting to be reborn. Being in a position of high import, Kamen had often been a target and his lifespan on earth had been relatively short each time. Jackson’s own Bodywalker Menes had been personally responsible for taking Kamen out on two separate occasions.
All the more reason why it felt strange to be living in peace with the man. But he was willing to give it a shot and he would make a genuine effort to believe him.
He only hoped his faith wasn’t being misplaced. If Kamen turned on them at a crucial moment, all could be lost.
But then Jackson recalled that oddly affectionate little caress Kamen had given the Wraith. For the first time he saw Kamen as being more like the rest of them…instead of this highly disciplined and highly unapproachable creature. That single sign of tenderness had made him seem instantly more approachable…more fallible and more real. More normal.
“I would like to help too,” Viève said eagerly.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Jackson said. He swept his eyes between Kamen, who had returned to studying, and Viève, who had moved over to him to help. She reached out to touch his shoulders, squeezing them as she leaned against his back to peer over his shoulder. Kamen didn’t shrug her off or complain about the intimacy, and Jackson took heart in the act. There was definitely something going on there. Only time would tell what it was exactly, but for now…for now he turned and left the room, leaving the couple alone. Sometimes these things were better left to grow slowly with time.
So he did just that.
Chapter 8
Kamen was deep in thought one moment, then thoroughly distracted the next. Viève’s hands were on his shoulders, absently massaging the tense muscles there. When he’d been with the Templars he’d had full body massages on a regular basis, along with manicures and pedicures and other such luxuries that came with wealth, power, and position.
But he had none of those things now. He had no wealth and was completely dependent on the good graces and wealth of the body Politic. He had no power other than the power of his magic. And his position amongst these former enemies was the lowest it could possibly have been.
How the mighty have fallen, he thought wryly.
But he had made this choice. He could easily have chosen to continue to serve Odjit/Apep, probably even maintaining a position of wealth and comfort in the process. But that would only have been until he did something to displease Apep. Then he would be as easily discarded as a used tissue.
Yet it wasn’t fear of that that had motivated him to switch sides. He had been a blind fool when it came to Odjit. And he had to right all of his wrongs…if such a thing were even possible.
So he gladly accepted his lack of means and position. It was as he deserved. But that had meant leaving behind such treasures as a simple massage.
And yet this was no simple massage. This massage stirred him, swept heat over his shoulders and made him aware of her weight, slight as it was, pressing into his back. He felt her breasts against his spine as her fingers worked absently on his shoulders. She was looking over his shoulder at the pages of the journal he held in his hands. He gripped it tightly to keep himself from turning in his chair and grabbing hold of her. He fantasized dragging her into his lap, settling her backside against his growing erection.
The sensation took his breath away. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been sexually aroused by a woman. Certainly not in his present lifetime…maybe not even in the one before it either. True, he had only been in this body for ten years, but that was plenty of time to nurture a need if it had come. Only it had never come and he had never sought it. He had deemed himself above such base pleasures of the flesh.
And yet, here he was. And with, of all things, a Wraith. A race notoriously cold and callous. A race, according to Viève, with no sexuality except a mating drive that struck once every few years. Whatever a few years meant. Three? Five? Ten? More? The Wraiths were just as immortal as all the Nightwalker races and could live for centuries under the right conditions. The drive to mate every decade would not be so inconceivable in the grand scheme.
But she was no normal Wraith. They had established that from the beginning. What did that mean for her sex drive?
Wait. What was he thinking? This should not matter to him! None of this should even be making any kind of impression on him. He was well beyond such animalistic behaviors!
“What can I do to help?” she asked in a whisper near his ear. Her warm breath washed against him and his resolve weakened even as his body tightened further. He stood up suddenly, nearly knocking her over backward, as he took several steps and put distance between them. He began to glare at her, but her honest puzzlement made him realize she had no idea what she had done to affect him. These had not been calculated acts of seduction.
It made him feel twice as foolish. Imagine, he thought, what she could do to him if she were to put her mind to it!
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He floundered for a response. Honesty sprang to the forefront, but he held the reaction in check. He did not wish to encourage her, and honesty might do exactly that.
“I am not used to being crowded as I work,” he said. Honest yet not entirely. It would have to do.
“Oh. I am sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He couldn’t keep himself from thinking what a pity that was. But he brushed the sentiment aside.
“Very well,” he said, edging back toward the desk and watching her warily. She moved back a step to give him room and he took a tense seat. He began to thumb through the pages of his journal again slowly, but quickly realized he wasn’t seeing the pages; he was too concerned with the woman hovering back behind his left shoulder. She was giving him room, yet he felt her as if she were still leaning against him.
He went back a few pages and tried to focus once again. Before her arrival, he had been focused on three books at once. Now it was a chore to focus on the one. He redoubled his efforts. He must find the witness spell. He was certain he had seen it, almost certain he had written it into his journal of spells. But his journal spanned volumes. He was guessing it was in the volume before the one he was presently recording spells into. Recent, but not too recent.
He looked at the spell compendiums also laid open on his desk. He knew it was in one of these three books. But it was hard to remember things from a lifetime ago.
As he thought of these things, he began to feel centered again. He was still aware of her…very much so…but she kept her distance as she had agreed to do and that helped.
“Surely there’s something I can do?”
“Only if you can read Arabic, for that is what I write in.” He showed her his journal, written in very neat Arabic. “These others are in Sanskrit and French. I am having trouble deciding if the spell is very old or if it was of a newer bent. I know it is in one of these volumes.”
“Well, I don’t know about Arabic or Sanskrit, but I can read French.”
He looked at her, his brow shooting up. “Really? It’s an old version of French, probably as easy to read as old English.”
“I think I can manage. I may be only half a century old, bu
t I am well read. Self-taught, but good enough. What am I looking for?” She reached across him for the volume in French and her scent, the scent of sweet strawberries, assaulted him. He took a deep breath, unable to help himself, his eyes closing as the pleasure of the smell wended into him.
“It’s called the Witness Reflection,” he said, willing himself not to breathe deeply again.
She moved away from him, thank the gods, and sat down on the couch, pulling up her skirt so she could cross her legs Indian style. She settled the book into the well of her lap and promptly began to thumb through the pages.
“This is very clearly written. If it’s in here it should be easy to find,” she said. “Too bad there isn’t a table of contents.”
“That would be too easy,” he said wryly in response.
“I suppose so. But this will be easier than Sanskrit. Or Arabic.”
“Arabic is easy once you get the trick of it. Perhaps I’ll teach you,” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and she immediately beamed at him.
“Would you? I’m a very fast learner.”
“I’m sure you are. Let’s focus on the task before us for the moment.”
“Of course,” she agreed, and then buckled down to her reading.
Kamen tried to do the same, but he could swear he could smell her from across the room. As a Nightwalker his senses were very keen. His eyesight in the dark was perfect, his palate refined, his hearing acute. But was his sense of smell so keen that he could smell her from such a distance…or was it only his imagination?
He decided it was just a matter of keen senses. Why would he imagine such a thing? He was a man of cold hard facts. He was not given to fanciful notions.
They studied together in silence for a good half an hour, each making slow progress through their works; though his was somewhat slower because he was constantly distracted by her smell. How did she manage to smell like that? Was it some kind of perfume? A body wash perhaps? Whatever it was it was delectable; it made him think about whether or not her skin would taste like strawberries as well.
He was doing it again! Allowing himself to get wrapped up in ridiculous fancy! What was it about her that had him fantasizing about her in the most peculiar ways?
“I found it!” she cried suddenly. “At least, I think I did. Is this it?”
She leapt up and hurried over to him, shoving the book and the scent of strawberries under his nose.
He didn’t even look at the book. He grabbed hold of her arm as he surged out of his seat, towering over her.
“What is this spell?” he asked accusatorily. “What magic have you used?”
“Magic? I-It’s the spell you’re looking for…”
“I want to know what you’ve done to me!”
“D-done? I haven’t done anything!”
“Oh yes, you have. You touch me and my body burns with heat, you come close to me and I am assailed by your scent and the desire to lick you from head to toe. This is some kind of spell! A lust spell or something. What is it?” His grip on her arm tightened and he jerked her body up against his. He pressed his face to the side of her neck and drew a deep breath.
“I’ve never cast a spell in my life!” she cried.
“Then what is this?”
“I don’t know! I…I feel it too! You…you smell like bergamot. Every time I come near you I smell bergamot and it smells so good.” She moaned when his lips stroked the side of her neck. “Please…please…”
“Please what? Please break this spell or please throw myself into it? Which shall I do?” he demanded to know.
“There’s no spell! I swear, I would never do that.”
“So this is naturally occurring? I find that hard to believe. I am not a man prone to lust. And that is what I feel when you are near me like this. Unadulterated lust.”
She gasped when his tongue came to touch the soft side of her neck and then licked its way slowly upward. When he reached her hair he cursed sharply. “You even fucking taste like strawberries.”
He had not struck her as a man who swore so baldly, so like everything else, it shocked her to her core. But she didn’t have time to process his hard words because his hard mouth was crushed against hers in the very next moment. There were no niceties, no preamble. He thrust his tongue into hot hard contact with hers, tangling them together. She moaned at the rawness of it, at the deep pleasure it sent whipping through her. She had never known such heat, such intensity. She had never even come close. She had never even kissed a man until she had kissed him. None had wanted her. Not even as a curiosity.
His hands came to her back, dragging her up against him, pressing his body flush to hers. She was instantly aware of his erection through the soft material of his slacks. She blushed hotly and as habit went to cover her cheeks. But his hands suddenly gripped her wrists and pulled them forward, wrapping her arms around his lean, muscular body. She pressed her palms to his back, feeling the play of muscles there as he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her deep into the bend of his body.
Kamen’s heart was racing, as though it would bolt out of his chest if given the chance. His body was hard with desire for her, his tongue full of the sweet taste of her. He devoured her like a man starved for food would devour even the smallest morsel. That was how she made him feel. As if he had been parched for a lifetime and she, finally, was his drink.
He stroked her back, satisfying his craving for the feel of her only minutely. Then he swept his touch to the front of her body, filling his hand with the warm weight of her breast. She wasn’t wearing a bra, he realized instantly. The dress she wore had a built-in shelf bra. That left her next to bare, allowing him to feel the puckering of her nipple when it happened. He groaned, feeling himself harden even more because of it. He could tell she was being swept away, just as he was. He wondered how far she would let him take her.
He broke from her mouth, panting hard as he pressed their foreheads together. “What have you done to me?” he asked her in a hoarse whisper.
“Nothing. I swear!” she said.
“Little liar,” he said, but it was a soft accusation. “You may not have meant to, but you have definitely done something to me. So now I’m going to do something to you.”
He reached to curl his fingers around the strap of her maxi dress and pulled it down her arm. Slowly he pulled, making her breath catch in her chest as her breast was exposed to the cool air of the room. She swallowed noisily, her gaze worried as it focused on his eyes, which were focused on the flesh he was uncovering. When her nipple was exposed he took in a soft breath.
“Good enough to eat,” he said, his voice tight with unspent passion. A shiver walked down her spine at his words and she flushed warmly under his regard of her. Then his hand drifted toward her breast and he cupped her fully in his warm, strong palm; his long, tapered fingers wrapping around her intently. He kneaded her. Weighed her. Then he pulled her nipple between his fingers until she gasped from the sensation. Never having been touched like this before, she didn’t know the sensation would be so overwhelming. And making her even dizzier, he kissed her mouth again with ferocious hunger.
Then he let her breathe for barely a moment before he dropped his mouth to her breast. He kissed the upper swell of it first. Tongued her there wetly. Then he moved his hand aside so he could take her nipple into his mouth. Viève surged up onto her toes, her hands tangling into his hair. She moaned with pleasure, her head tipping back, her eyes closing tight. He sucked on her, taking her nipple deep into his mouth and she went wet between her thighs. It was a glorious sensation. All of it. She felt more alive in those few seconds than she had in the whole half decade she’d been living.
The next thing she knew she was on the floor, the thick carpeting beneath her shoulders and his hand at her ankle, dipping beneath her skirt. His smooth fingers ran up along her calf, tracing it lovingly, then moving up to her knee where he tickled her in the sensitive spot behind it. He pulled the sk
irt of her dress up further as he stroked her outer thigh, climbing all the way to her hip. Then his fingers were curving over the swell of her backside, toying at the edge on her bikini panties. He swept around her hip and suddenly he was touching her right between her legs, his fingers gliding over the fabric of her underwear where it covered the most secret heart of her.
Viève was overwhelmed. She had never thought she could feel like this…that she would feel like this. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that sex would never be a part of her life. And yet now here she was, doing sexual things she never thought she would be doing. All because of this man. Where was all her caution? All the things she should be worrying about?
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t possibly matter in the face of feelings as good and wondrous as these. To be wanted! Oh, how miraculous it was. How easily it changed her perspective on everything. And she was grateful for this new way of looking at things.
He lifted his head from her breast and met her eyes as he stroked the hot core of her through a barrier of damp cotton. Sensation ripped through her and she clutched at him blindly with her legs, drawing him deeper between her thighs until she could feel his erection against the core of her. He ground out a passionate groan as her hands gripped his backside and pulled him ever deeper against her.
Then her hands were suddenly on his shirt, ripping through the buttons in bursts of frenzied energy until the fabric parted and exposed his chest to her touch. She looked at him, at the warmth of his flesh exposed to her, at the two flat discs of his nipples and she longed to taste him as he had tasted her.
As if he had read her mind he braced his free hand against the floor and surged up her body, as if he had thrust inside of her, and brought his left nipple to her mouth. She eagerly touched her tongue to him…and then her teeth. She heard him hiss in pleasure just as his fingers slipped past the edge of her panties and sank into wet, hot flesh.
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