A Curse of Nightshade (Witches of the Gilded Lilies Book 1)

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  “I think you have mistaken me for yourself,” I countered, grabbing the bottle back. “I didn’t force someone up against a wall and lift her skirts to her waist earlier this evening.”

  “That was merely a ruse.”

  A ruse… Bold with intoxication, I quirked my eyebrow to mock him. “Was it, now? Then I must say, your body was very committed to the performance.” The challenge in my tone was clear, and his dark eyes fixed on me. I had his full attention.

  “Had I been fully committed, I wouldn't have stopped there,” he said, closing the distance between us in a step. “I would have pinned you against that wall and fucked you properly until your body quaked with pleasure, your legs gave out, and your voice went hoarse from screaming my name.”

  Blood surged through me as his words and the memory of his hands on my thighs collided, visions and feelings blending together in a delicious promise that my body silently begged for.

  With a deep breath to cleanse myself of the nagging temptation, I shoved the bottle back to him again. “Really? Is that what you would have done?” My question was answered by coals smoldering in his dark stare, and I swallowed down the lust rising within me. “I must say, Zen, that’s quite a tall tale—even for a demon.”

  He stepped closer still, and my heart slammed against my chest. “Not a tale, Andy my dear. An inevitability.” Angry fingertips dug into my arms as Zen lunged at me, pressing me to a wall for the second time that night. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my skin, his body against mine, and I looked up to find his wild, fiery stare glaring back. “Is this what you want, Oleander Nightshade? Because you can have it...”

  Heat shot through my body, but it was not from my fire—it was all from him. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words would escape, no matter how hard I tried to force them. My body had forsaken me, and Zen’s eyes twinkled with amusement at the sight. “Why Andy, I do believe this is the third time I’ve left you breathless…or perhaps the fourth.”

  “But I don’t wish to be left breathless again,” I said, my voice low and husky. “I wish to be left panting and sweating and begging for more.”

  That dark stare that I no longer loved to hate assessed me shrewdly as his fingers drifted along the smooth fabric of my dress, pressing along the inside of my thighs. “Panting, sweating, and begging for more,” he said, his voice rumbling through my body where his fingers touched. “Is that all you desire?”

  “No,” I whispered as I slid my hands down his lapels to the buttons of his coat.

  “No?” The tip of his nose traced the soft line of my jaw, and my breath caught in my throat. “What else does my Andy wish for, then?”

  The throbbing between my legs hit a fever pitch as he continued to caress my legs, pressing through the fabric of my skirts, and I moaned in frustration as his palm slipped teasingly past my core to slide up the bodice of my dress.

  That goddamn dress… I hated it and everything it represented. And as lust and anger burned inside me, begging to be unleashed, I stoked that smoldering fire until it was a raging inferno, blazing through my very pores. Zen stepped back as a single, glorious flash of flame torched that fucking silk abomination to ash, along with all those cursed undergarments. Their remains fell to the floor at my feet, leaving me—and my scars—totally bare for Zen’s wide eyes to take in.

  “I wish to be touched and fucked and reminded that I am more than a soulless shell of who I once was.” I reached up and pulled the decorative comb and pins from my hair, letting it spill around my shoulders and along my breasts. “Can you do that, Zenophrotesian Nexus?” I stepped within reach of him and sparked a fireball in my hand to better illuminate all that I had to offer. “Are you the right man for this task?”

  His eyes raked over me slowly, his body eerily still as he soaked in every inch of me. “I’m not the right man,” he said, smiling back at me, though there was no amusement to be found in it—only heat, mischief, and the promise of pain, should I desire it—“but I am the right being.” Once again, his fingers skimmed the flesh of my thighs, the tingling sensation trailing in their wake setting my skin ablaze. “And your requests...those are the results of the job, if it’s done properly, Andy my dear,” he breathed in my ear as the back of his hand brushed against my core briefly. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as pleasure I’d long forgotten exploded inside of me. “Or has it been so long that you’ve entirely forgotten how this works?”

  My hand slid down between our bodies to rest between his legs. “I’m confident that you can remind me.” Cupping all he had to boast, I stroked his considerable offering through his trousers. A low growl rumbled in my ear before he pulled away and stared at me like he might rip me apart at any moment.

  “Is this really how you wish to spend the rest of our evening?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Or has the whiskey made you bold?”

  “Both, I think…”

  “I feel I should remind you that you hate my kind, or so you’ve told me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then this seems a foolish decision.”

  “Do you always talk this much before you lie with a woman, or have you reserved this particular torture just for me?” I asked as I pulled him closer. “Yet another demonic weapon to wield against the soulless witch?”

  “I have another torture, as you say, reserved for you,” he said, pressing harder against my hand. “Provided you can handle it.”

  “Aren’t I handling it already?” I countered, tightening my grip.

  At that, he laughed. Then picked me up and threw me onto his bed, pinning me down with his body. “My restraint is not endless, Andy…”

  “It seems quite infinite from where I’m lying. I would have already had you naked and sweating if it were up to me.”

  “But it is up to you,” he said, that low, rumbling voice of his sending tremors through my body yet again. “I need to be sure this is what you truly want. That you will not regret this decision once you’ve sobered.”

  “My regrets are my burden to bear, not yours.”

  He canted his head as he hovered above me, dark curls hanging in his eyes. “Then say the word, and I am yours.”

  I smiled wickedly at him. “The word…”

  Deep, taunting laughter echoed through the room. “Clever girl.”

  Before I could respond, his lips were pressed against mine, kissing me with an urgency I hadn’t realized he shared. I knew he delighted in teasing me, in flirting with and embarrassing me. I also knew he wouldn’t have turned me down for a meaningless roll-around. But what I hadn’t known—what I couldn’t have known—was just how invested in this outcome he was. Everything from the press of his fingers on my skin to the force of his tongue in my mouth to the pulse of him between my legs spoke to that truth.

  I ripped off his coat and shirt, then scrambled to unfasten his pants as he gripped my thighs so tightly, I knew they’d bruise. With some effort (and a little help from some carefully placed fire), he was soon naked, looming above me as the light of the moon spilling in through the curtains highlighted his statuesque form. He was perfection in every physical way, and my body ached for him. But a niggling thought tried to overwhelm it: a warning to sober my lust-addled mind.

  You have been here before, it said. This will not end well…

  “I will give you one last chance,” he said, as though our bond had allowed him to hear my very thoughts. “One final opportunity to realize what you’re about to do—and with whom—”

  “I’m quite aware,” I said, sitting up on the bed, legs spread so he could fit between. “I am not the young woman that Xandros fooled anymore.” I leaned forward and brushed my nose along the side of his stomach. “And as you so love to remind me, you are not him.”

  “No,” he all but growled, “I am not.” With those words, the last thread of his apparent restraint snapped. He scooped me up by my ass and pressed my core against him. His skin was like velvet against mine as he eased himself inside me with s
urprising gentleness, drawing out the process with wicked delight. The sheer size of him made me gasp from the pressure, and he went still for a moment until I raked my nails down his back, spurring him on. He pulled my face to his and kissed me, his tongue stroking against mine as he thrust inside of me, deep and hard. And with that thrust, that dark, dangerous something deep within me broke free. It roared to the surface, fueling my every move. Every touch. Every kiss.

  My need for him fueled his relentless pace, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. “If you make too much noise, I’ll be forced to stop,” he warned, his breath heavy on my neck as he spoke. “Can you be quiet, or will I have to get creative?”

  “I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” I managed to reply.

  The devilish look in his eye told me my challenge was greatly appreciated. With the gauntlet thrown, he flipped me face down over the edge of the bed, and stepped in behind me. His hand slid slowly down my hips and around to the plane of my stomach until it finally settled between my legs. I sucked in a breath as his fingers swept in tight circles around my core until a burst of sensation shot through me, and I moaned at the feel of it, my body clenching in preparation for release.

  His hand and his body went still. “Remember the deal,” he said, his voice teeming with unsated need. “I’ll take it away if you cannot be quiet. We wouldn’t want to scandalize poor Mrs. Whittle.”

  I went silent long enough for him to continue what he’d started, my body shuddering at the sudden contact. Once I could trust my voice, I whispered a spell between ragged breaths, calling forth my magic. A plume of grey smoke spilled from my hands, fisted in the quilt, and began swirling around us. The tendrils wove a shield thick enough to dampen the sound of anything within, and not a moment too soon.

  The second the spell was complete, I cried out.

  “I do believe that’s cheating, Andy.”

  As I writhed against the bed, my body still shuddering with waves of orgasm, he flipped me like a ragdoll onto my back and stared at me. Amusement sparkled in his eyes, but there was hint of something else—something dark and ominous—lurking in the background, and my body went tight with anticipation at how he’d release it.

  “I won’t wake the house now,” I said, still breathing hard.

  A smile spread across his face. “We shall see about that.”

  Slowly, he crouched down beside the bed where my legs dangled over the edge, limp and lifeless. He slipped his hands under my thighs and yanked me closer, my core only inches from his face. “You might want to make your smoke shield a little thicker,” he said before his tongue flicked across my delicate skin and the world around me unraveled. I twitched and moaned, cursed and cried out to a god I did not even serve. With every pass of his tongue, every press of his mouth, I felt my body betraying me, the sensation threatening to spill over and end it all too soon. I clutched the quilt tighter and held on for dear life.

  Then I felt the slow press of his finger, and my hips bucked wildly as it slipped inside me. “Christ!” I screamed as he held me down, intent on finishing his delightful torture.

  “You don’t strike me as the savior type,” he said, breaking contact only long enough for that one sentence. Then he stood quickly, gripped my hips, and thrust himself deep into me.

  I couldn’t reply, my mind and body too overwhelmed by what was happening—what would soon happen again—unable to concentrate on anything but the rhythm of his body and mine.

  “Impressive,” he said as he slowed just enough to tease me. “Let’s hope you can hold out a little longer.”

  My back arched and I reached for the edge of the bed to anchor my body. The force of him was brutal, and I loved every moment of it—especially the way his dark stare never broke from mine. His eyes were fixed, his gaze steady as he grew closer and closer to the edge, bringing me along with him.

  With one final thrust, the sharp, warm sensation pooling between my legs finally hit its crescendo just as he released all he’d been holding back. I let loose a sound that most certainly would have woken the entire boarding house—and likely half the block—had it not been for my magic, but I still prayed it was enough so that Mrs. Whittle wouldn’t break down the door for fear someone was being murdered.

  Zen collapsed atop me, a satisfied smile on his face, breathing as hard as I. Together, we lay in his bed, panting—exactly as I’d demanded.

  “As I told you once before, Andy, hate and sex are not mutually exclusive. The one really does make the other better…”

  I went still beneath him, and he lifted his head to assess my face, looking for clues as to what had so abruptly changed.

  “I don’t hate you,” I whispered, unable to hide the hurt in my voice.

  The smoke cage around us fell away, and the light of the moon showed his expression. Confusion bled to fear, then faded to his typical countenance. “Then simply disregard that statement.”

  But there was no disregarding it, no taking it back. It was too late for that. I tried not to let my disappointment show, but it was impossible. My armor had been shed during our intimate encounter, and I couldn’t replace it quickly enough to hide how I felt. I tried to slip out from under him, but he saw through my subtle withdrawal and caught my legs.

  “I meant nothing by that, Andy. Honestly…it was a poorly-timed comment.”

  “Honestly…” I said, steeling my nerves. “Such a funny word coming from a demon.”

  His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. “Look at me,” he said as I avoided his gaze. “Andy…” His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of my thighs, begging for me to oblige. “Andy, please.”

  I looked at him—the man that hid the monster—and wondered what he could possibly say to save the moment. To undo what he had just done.

  “If I somehow gave you the impression that my comment applied to how I feel about you, then I am sorry for causing that confusion. I have never, and could never, hate you. Have I been indifferent to you? Yes. Did I once see you as a means to an end? Most certainly. But I no longer feel that way. And I never hated you as you once hated me, and quite possibly hate me again after saying what I said.”

  I stared at him as he hovered above my naked body, the look in his eyes earnest and begging me to believe his words. To forgive his affront. The desire to do so burned within me with such ferocity that flames nearly erupted from my body, as they once had at the mere mention of a demon. How strange this moment felt. How far I’d come from the creature Xandros had created.

  I was soulless, but not heartless.

  I was hollow, but not empty.

  And in that moment, I had the choice to either let my past dictate my future—to continue to live only in fear and anger—or to allow the newest incarnation of myself a modicum of trust in another, despite who that other might be. If I was more than a soulless Daughter of Fire, then perhaps Zen truly was more than just a demon.

  “I don’t hate you,” I said again, this time with more conviction, “but do not make me live to regret that, or I’ll kill you.”

  The wry smile that irritated me in the most irrational way overtook his expression. “I would expect nothing less.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Hours later, I awoke with a start just as the sun began to spill in through the windows. Dread coursed through me as I remembered the auction, Xandros, and his near-attack on the Lilies. Then I looked at my bare wrists and let out a sigh of relief. Zella and Hagan hadn’t returned with word, which meant that all was well thus far. But even Zen had said that it wouldn’t be long before Xandros learned where the Demonheart was, and that thought was an ominous reminder of what I had to do that day.

  Of whose trust I had to betray.

  “I suppose we should get this over with,” I said, rolling over to face Zen.

  Only Zen was nowhere to be found.

  That sense of dread grew stronger still.

  “Dammit,” I cursed under my breath. “Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!” I’d been l
ying to myself the night before. I was exactly the girl that Xandros had fooled, only this time, it was worse. I should have known better, and I hadn’t.

  My shame knew no bounds.

  Channeling that shame into anger, I stormed across the hall to my room wearing nothing but a sheet and my rage. I threw on my clothes with little care and was out of my bedroom before I’d even buttoned my shirt, doing the job as I rushed down the stairs, Carrick coat slung over my arm.

  “Miss Night—”

  “I have to go, Mrs. Whittle,” I said as I raced past the dining room.

  “What’s this? No time for coffee?” a male voice called after me; the voice of the man that had done devilish things to me only hours earlier. I backtracked until I stood in the doorway to the dining room. Zen sat at the far side of the table, grinning at me as though he were reliving our adventures over and over in his mind. “I made sure Mrs. Whittle brewed a fresh pot for you. I thought you might need it after your late night.” I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and fought to tamp it down. “Where are you rushing off to, anyway? Some pressing matter to attend to?”

  “I’ll go get that coffee,” Mrs. Whittle said, scurrying out of the room. Zen tracked her exit like a predator, then turned his attention back to me.

  I fought to muster an answer for a moment, then settled for the truth. “I thought…I thought you’d…”

  “Run off without you?” he said. He slowly rose from the table and walked around it to stand before me. “Betrayed you?”

  I did all I could not to wither under his intense stare. “Well, you can hardly blame me—”

  “Except I can, Andy my dear. I thought we’d moved past that.” I closed my eyes and struggled to even out my breathing. Having him so near—remembering what we’d done the night before—was clouding my thoughts, making it impossible to explain why my actions had been justified. Why I hadn’t been wrong to assume what I had. But every time I opened my mouth to say as much, no words came out; only ragged breaths. “Now, I think it might be best if you have some coffee and breakfast, and then you can tell me all about where you were headed when you stormed down here like the building was on fire,” he said in my ear. I opened my eyes to find him smiling wickedly at me before he walked away and took his seat. “And perhaps you should finish buttoning your shirt. I most certainly don’t mind the view, but I’m afraid poor Mrs. Whittle will have a fit if your breasts are visible during our morning meal.”