Читать книгу Captivating The Witch - Michele Hauf - Страница 10
ОглавлениеEd looked up from his laptop to see Inego and Glitch forcing a squirming, struggling—bound—woman into his office. A plastic grocery sack hung over her head, though the long silver-white hair that he recognized so well spilled out beyond her shoulders.
“What the—?” He marched up and pulled the bag from her head.
“You?” she gasped. Lifting her bound hands, the fingers of which having been completely wrapped up with thin white cording, she asked, “What in all the moons?”
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked Inego (of the twosome, the one who he suspected had more brains). “I asked you to bring me the most powerful witch in Paris.”
“She’s it, boss. We saw her save a boy in the park. Didn’t even have to twitch her nose to do it, either.”
“Did John verify it?”
“Yep. He picked her out before that happened. Said his witchy radar was going off the scale and told us to check her out.”
Ed stepped back from the witch and noticed she looked as surprised as he. Though that could have something to do with the ropes and the rough treatment she must have received when brought here. If John Malcolm had verified her power, then it was possible. He’d had no idea she was so powerful.
On the other hand, she had bound him with nothing more than a few words.
Well, well. This could get interesting. If not...uncomfortable.
“What are you up to?” she asked. “I thought you hated witches. Called us vile.”
Indeed he had. Not the best way to start a working relationship, but he could manage. “I needed to speak to you,” he said. Could he really do this? Did he need a witch? Especially one so distracting as this one?
“So you—you kidnapped me?”
“This is not a kidnapping.”
Though when she shook her bound hands between them and gave him an incredulous gape, he couldn’t deny it did look nefarious, if not downright cruel.
“Now you know what it feels like,” he said reactively. “To be bound.”
Her jaw dropped, stupefied. He couldn’t help a vainglorious smile. So he wasn’t keen on condescending to her sympathies. The witch had bound him. And it had hurt like hell.
To his men he said, “I didn’t tell you to tie her up. I just asked you to bring her to me.”
“She’s a witch, boss. We had to tie her up or she’d put a spell on us. Malcolm told us the marks on her fingers cast spells if she can use her hands.”
Ed considered that one and conceded with a nod. “True. Good call, men.”
“Oh, I am so out of here.” The witch backed away, bound hands beating the air with her words. “Most powerful? Maybe. Most pissed off? You better believe it.”
Glitch rushed to grab her by the arm and she struggled, kicking her high-heeled shoe and landing the pointed toe on his thigh. Yikes. That had to hurt. Glitch yowled and hobbled off, clutching his wound. Inego grabbed her other arm.
“Enough!” The minions glanced to Ed.
The witch pleaded with her thrust-up hands. “I can still throw magic with my hands bound. But I’ll be much more compelled to listen if you treat me with respect.”
Indeed. But could he trust her? She’d once already used witchcraft to soften his anger and make him kiss her. Her mouth was a pretty pale pink today. And those eyes. Had he ever gazed into such vivid green eyes? There were things in them. Mystery. Adventures. Worlds.
Hell. No. He wasn’t gazing.
“I’ll count to three,” the witch threatened. “Then I’m bringing out the big magic.”
“Boss?” Glitch asked on a worried wobble.
“What kind of minions are you?” Ed said to them. “You’re frightened of one little witch? You managed to get her here without taking harm.”
“I’m going to have a bruise,” Glitch whined and clutched his thigh.
“Where did I find you two?” Ed muttered, pacing before the threesome.
Right. He’d rescued the dastardly duo from exile to Daemonia after both had been caught with their proverbial fingers in the cookie jar. Working a V-hub and selling vampire blood to their fellow demons. They were two stupid lunks who had needed direction and a purpose. Which he was trying to give them.
And the best way to lead was by example.
Ed thrust out some minor magic in a black curl of smoke that melted the ropes bound about the witch’s hands. “My men should not have been so cruel. I apologize.”
“Yeah? Too little, too late, buster. This is nuts!” She turned and marched out of his office, the tight skirt she wore luring his gaze to the sensual wiggle beneath the pale green fabric. Yeah, so gazing was good. Real good.
Inego and Glitch cast him wondering stares, which blew his gaze off course.
“Idiots,” Ed hissed. He strode after the pissed-off witch. What was her name? “Tamatha!”
Instead of turning right to go down the hallway to the elevator, she’d unknowingly taken a left and now stood like a captive doe before the wall where his secretary normally sat. At least the secretary was spared this scene, though. She was out having a baby demon that could very likely be born with scales, thanks to her affair with a dragon shifter.
“I’m so sorry.” Ed walked up to her and tried to put his hands on her shoulders to calm her, but she slapped at his wrists and hands. “Tamatha, please, I want to talk to you.”
“They put a freakin’ plastic bag over my head!”
He managed to pin one of her shoulders against the wall and worked to wrangle her opposite wrist, to calm her, to make her listen to him. And to be prepared should she try to fling more magic his way.
“I could have suffocated!”
Indeed, he had best give more detailed instructions next time he sent his men after such a pretty, delicate creature who— “Ouch!”
Pressing his forehead to the wall beside her head, he rode out the pain of a direct hit from her pointy-toed shoe to his shin. Damn, those things were sharp! He was probably bleeding. He didn’t want to risk looking because he still had her in a loose but compliant hold.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not cruel. But you bring up my defensive instincts.”
When her hand stroked over his cheek and temple, a wave of strange desire shivered through his system.
“Tamatha,” he gasped. A lush tide of delicious warmth overtook his muscles and his body melted against hers. He could not...resist. “Oh, goodness and light.”
Bracketing her face with his hands, he kissed her like he’d never kissed a woman before. Sweetly. Reverently. With such a longing that it must have shown all over his skin in the shivers he felt riding the tattooed surface. Her breath spilled over his lips and entered his pores. Her aura of lemon perfume surrounded him with a sticky sweet allure.
He was falling, succumbing, slipping into a strange kind of submission...
Realizing he was once again kissing the witch, Ed abruptly broke the connection. “Ah hell.” He looked at his hands, still gently bracketing her face. And there, on her face, the glint in her eye as the curve of a smile tickled onto her perfect lips. “What did you do to me?”
“Me? You’re the one who keeps kissing me. I didn’t do a thing but get kidnapped and roughed up by your henchmen. And then you pressed me up against the wall and had your way with me.” She cast her glance aside. “Not that there was anything wrong with your way. Which is why I haven’t wielded magic against you. Yet.”
“I believe I should be thankful for that. Why is it every time I see you I want to...to...?”
“Hurt me?”
“I don’t hurt women. I just want to—” he made a motion to shove but curved his fingers away from touching her “—push you away. Witches are vile.”
“So you’ve said. Repeatedly. Great way to kill the mood, buddy.” She shoved his chest, but he didn’t step away from her.
“Yes, but if you are so repulsive, then why do I end up kissing you every time we meet?”
She tilted her head and tapped a finger on her lips. Those luscious, sweet, soft lips demanded more thorough attention. And so he would see to it they had it.
Ed again kissed her, this time pushing his hands through her hair and caressing the softness that spilled over her shoulders in waves of unnatural silver. Goddess hair, he thought. Not of this realm. He pressed his body along hers. To feel her, to take her all in...
“Ahem,” she muttered against his mouth, and he sensed her need to push him away, when all he wanted to do was get closer than close. Inside her. Intimately. Her gaze veered over his shoulder and to the door of his office.
Ed glanced around behind him. Glitch stood in the doorway, observing with a smirk and dancing gaze. The idiot didn’t need to say a thing.
What luck that the most powerful witch in Paris was also one who attracted him like no other and promised to give him dreams that would keep any sane man begging for more. She was a witch, but she wasn’t one of those nasty witches his mother had warned him about. She couldn’t be.
But then, that was the same thing he’d thought about Witch Number Two before she’d tried to enslave him.
Ed gripped Tamatha by the wrist and pulled her toward the office, but she planted her feet and tugged.
“We need to talk,” he said hastily.
“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 fresh 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.”
