Lane chewed her lip. Caitlan knew Eve was with her tonight. The fact she didn’t stop them from sneaking out spoke volumes. Their supreme wasn’t quite the hard-ass she wanted everyone to believe. Black sheep or not, Caitlan loved her. And Eve.
“And Laney, if you don’t make it home in time, promise you’ll find some other kind of—sanctuary.”
The word left no question Caitlan knew where she and Eve were tonight, but she also knew vampire council doors were iron clad. Talk about a clever cookie. If they had to face a rogue Sidhe, there was no better place to do so.
Lane closed her eyes, regretting the whole evening. “I’ll do what I can, Caitlan. I promise.”
Lane pressed end and locked her phone. She turned on her heel to head for the stairs, scanning for Eve the entire way. Caitlan’s news explained what skimmed her senses earlier tonight. It wasn’t a backlash. It was a premonition. She needed to grab Eve and get out before something happened.
Chapter Three
The last thing Lane wanted was an undead frenzy. Fae blood was intoxicating to vampires, and the possibility of a full-blooded Sidhe in their private playground? Bad. Very bad.
It was enough she spelled their way into the VIP lounge, but to bring trouble to their doorstep was something else.
Vampires were imperious by nature, and not the most forgiving of beings. Especially not with those who disrespected their refuge. The Red Veil wasn’t just a trendy underground club. It was Le Sanctuaire.
Sanctuary.
A place undead elders, Sebastién DuLac, Rémy Tessier, and Dominic De’Lessep, founded when North America was still the New World. It had evolved over the centuries, but here it stood in its modern incarnation.
Averting an incident in vampire country needed speed and stealth. She needed to work fast and stay as far under the undead radar as possible.
Pushing her way through the throng, Lane craned to peer past the sea of Goth humanity. The last she saw of Eve she was at the center of the pulsing crowd with Mason.
“Hopeless,” she muttered, pivoting toward a back corner instead. She wasn’t going to find Eve using ordinary means. She needed magic.
The back corridor opposite the bathrooms was quieter, and less likely for her to be interrupted. Leaning against a veil-draped pillar, she closed her eyes and expanded her senses. She concentrated on Eve and their shared bloodline.
Silence. Not even a blip.
Maybe a vampy ward blocked her search. Or maybe Eve’s mind was so sex-soaked she didn’t want to be found.
Opening her eyes, she exhaled an expletive. “You and your ‘go for it’ attitude, Alden. Clever cookie, my ass.”
Eve had teased her about their innate scrying ability, calling it a witchy version of Apple’s Find My Phone. It was obvious the girl had turned hers to silent.
“I know you’re getting your freak on right now, but I need a hint, sweetie. Where are you?” She physically scanned the area once more, hoping for something.
If Mason hurt her, that dumbass shifter would never see another full moon. Lifting a hand to her forehead, she exhaled. Most Weres were quick-witted as well as attractive. Leave it to her to pick the mental runt of the litter.
“Okay, Evie. I need you to answer me. Now.”
For a witch not to answer a summons, it meant one of two things. Either she ignored the call, or she couldn’t respond.
Worst case scenarios sprang to life and Lane clenched her jaw. “Stop it. We’re not there yet.”
Shoving her hand through her hair, she chewed on her lip. She needed to expand her range to the edge of the vampire sanctuary and their infamous backrooms before anything happened.
That’s if you’re not already too late.
I said stop.
Lane closed her eyes, pushing her guilt to the back of her mind. We’re not playing by the rules tonight. Well, maybe bending the rules wasn’t enough. Maybe she had to break them completely.
Her eyes snapped open.
Screw scrying the periphery. She was getting into those backrooms if it meant force feeding her blood to every vampire trolling the club.
She lifted both hands, her power on full charge, but before she could mumble a spelled word, pins and needles tingled at the base of her spine.
“What the fu—”
Her hands dropped as the tingle spread. It warmed, growing hotter and hotter until it spread through her extremities.
Lane arched away from the pillar. Almost of their own volition, rubbery legs pitched her toward the arched entrance to the backrooms.
Invisible hands trailed the length of her thighs, edging higher and higher. Her breasts ached and wetness slicked the lace of her panties.
Son of a bitch! Someone had answered her summons, but it wasn’t Eve.
Her knees went weak, and she fisted the front of her blouse, fumbling for control. The urge to plunge her hands between her legs and self-satisfy nearly drove her to the floor.
The words ‘Death by Sex’ flashed through her mind, and she forced a breath, steadying herself against the edge of the entry way.
“Fuck you, you bastard!”
A soft chuckle stroked her mind. Except this wasn’t funny. It was a taunt. Whoever this was, they wanted her to know they were in control. If it wasn’t the rogue Sidhe, it was a minion, and she wasn’t about to become a plaything.
What was it she preached to Eve? Witches need to cast on the fly and conjure when required?
Gritting her teeth, she threw a wall up against the invisible mind fuck and marshaled her focus. She reached for the pentacle at her throat and wrapped her hand around the silver and black tourmaline.
“Hands off, you pig!”
With a snarl, she reversed the attack, sending a bitch slap reply across the highjacked path. A painful hiss echoed in her mind, and she smirked.
“I hope that crushed your balls, you asshole!”
Message clear. Fuck with me and I will fuck with you right back.
She centered her strength before he found a way to retaliate, closing doors all over her mind. She couldn’t find Eve without a wide search, but if this fucker kept messing with her mind, her chances were slim to none.
Maybe that was his sick plan. Dark Fae were known to be sexual predators. Death by Sex was a weapon of choice and a badge of honor in the Unseelie Court.
The invasive feel dissipated the moment she shut him down, and she steeled herself, disgusted at the damp feel in her panties.
Her body betrayed her, and she hated that someone had the ability to force her will. Still, score one for Team Witch. The big bad Sidhe bolted the moment she hit back.
“Coward.” Drawing a cleansing breath, she used the energy from the crowd as a buffer and braced herself. A solitary witch couldn’t go up against a rogue Sidhe alone. Especially not one with an agenda.
“Yeah, well. Two could play at that game, jerkwad.”
She straightened her shoulders. No one touched her without permission, especially not an assailant too chicken to show himself.
The Fae bastard would get more than a bitch-slap when she got hold of him, but right now it was more important she find Eve.
Quieting her mind, she kept herself guarded and her power at low voltage. If opening her senses fully had tipped the bastard to her presence, she’d be damned if she gave him any more help.
“Come out, come out, whoever you are,” she murmured. She cast a magical net across the club, pinpointing every supernatural by specific species and position.
Her underlying magic permeated the air, drawing energy from motion and sexual tension. The poured concrete floor shimmered like asphalt in summer, but most patrons moved in the surreal setting completely unaware.
Dread wound its way toward her, floating above the magic. Foreboding black tendrils grew as she followed the ominous sigil toward the entrance to the infamous backrooms.
“Oh God, Eve. No.”
She stared at the steel and iron enforced door and her mouth wet dry.
“Okay, well. Mason is a shifter. Maybe he has a season pass to a backroom freakshow and everything’s all good.”
“You really don’t believe that, do you?”
Lane whirled on her heel at the deep male timbre. She blinked. The man standing behind her was not what she expected.
“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop on private conversations?”
Tall, gorgeous, and as dark as she was fair, he had supernatural written all over him, despite his cloaked glamour.
“Does it qualify as a conversation when one is talking to themselves?” He cocked his head, flashing a teasing grin.
“Look, I don’t have time for whatever it is you think you’re doing. I’m not interested. So, go away.”
The half-smile on his lips sobered and he met her eyes with a steady, unnerving gaze. “You do realize you’ll have to bargain your way through those locked doors. You won’t find your charge otherwise. No witch has ever gained access alone. Not without help.”
She lifted her chin, sliding into a defensive stance. “If the kind of help you suggest is what I think, there’s more than a kick to the balls waiting for you if you take a step closer.”
“I’m glad to see time hasn’t tempered your devil fire, Laney. Can it be you really don’t recognize me?”
Her eyes narrowed. The man’s features were strong. With a full mouth and chiseled jaw. His hair was the color of rich dark chocolate, but it was the intense blue of his eyes that held her attention. Eyes the color of Blue Raspberry Crush.
Her chest tightened, and her mouth went dry.
It couldn’t be.
He gave a little flourish, finishing with a courtly bow. “Now, love, tell me you don’t remember slipping behind the hedgerow with me in Caitlan’s garden. Or how we stole a bottle of her best mead and had our own Yule celebration, just us two.”
“Gareth?” His name was an uncertain whisper.
Lifting his head, he winked, dropping his glamoured façade. “In the flesh.”
Lane blinked again, stunned. “But, you’re dead.”
“Ah, my love. There’s dead, and then there’s dead-dead.”
Past images flooded her mind as he closed the distance between them. If this was truly Gareth, he was as heady as ever, with the same underlying sensuality that used to make her mouth water.
“But how? I watched you burn.” Her words faltered in disbelief, but there he stood. “Are you undead, then?”
It was the only answer that made sense, but there was no hint of vampire in the man. In fact, there was no hint of anything out of the ordinary, except for the fact she watched a pyre consume his body ten years earlier.
“Hardly undead, love.” Gareth smiled softly. “You look great, by the way. Ethereal and as gorgeous as ever. You’ve grown into a stunning woman, Laney. Then again, I’m a little prejudiced. You were mine, so you were perfect. You still are.”
“And you still dance around giving straight answers, if it’s truly you.”
Flashing a crooked smile, he touched the side of his perfect nose. “You were always smarter, but I’ll give you a hint. Coveted blood has its advantages.”
Her lips parted. “So, it’s true then.”
“Don’t gape, love. It’s not your style.”
She snapped her mouth shut but slid back into a defensive stance, her eyes narrowing. “Sidhe can shapeshift, and they can help themselves to memories.”
“Is this proof enough?” He rolled his shirt sleeve over his forearm, showing her the tender underside.
Lane stared at the mark. The same one she and every other Fae-kissed witch in the Circle of the Raven had upon their initiation. Not a tattoo. Not a brand. An inner mark that rose from their blood.
“Our mark is as unique as it is inborn. Granted by the Goddess Morrigan to the children of a witch and a full-blooded Sidhe and all their descendants. We carry the mark in our blood. Sidhe from either court can conceal almost anything with glamour, but not this.”
Lane lifted the belled sleeve of her blouse, holding her forearm out as well. Intricate Celtic spirals twined over soft flesh, climbing ivy-like toward the elbow. Their two marks were identical, and when Lane’s arm touched his, the patterns glowed. Like recognized like.
“Do you know how long I wondered and waited?” Her question was barely a murmur. “After a year, I figured the story was just legend. I mourned you, Gareth. For the longest time.”
Gareth stroked the soft skin below her mark. “It took me a long time to recover, but yes, the Phoenix did rise.”
“Phoenix Fae,” she uttered the words almost reverently. “Does Caitlan know?”
He shook his head. “No. No one does.” He shrugged. “Well, no one on this plane. Except you.”
“This plane.” She raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “Are you saying—”
“Does it matter?” Gareth answered her question with a question. “You want to find your friend, and I want to help. Can’t we leave it at that for now?”
She considered him. “Are you going to disappear for another decade, or at least stick around long enough to explain what happened and why you never let me know you were alive?”
Gareth clasped her arm, pressing their marks together. The air shimmered gold around them, soft magic tingling through their bodies.
“No one’s making me go anywhere, love.” He leaned in closer. “Not this time. Not without you.”
The shared tingle spread, enveloping her body in delicious heat. Memories flooded their merged auras, leaving her even more stunned.
Gareth’s face tense with need, his hips grinding deep as his thick length filled her. His teasing laugh when he surprised her with their first sex toy.
Her body hummed with pent-up need, and her lips parted again, but not to argue. “Gareth—” Next thing she knew, she was on tiptoe as though ten years never happened, ready to claim his mouth.
He pulled back. “Laney, I—”
She blinked, not sure which stung more. His rejection or her own stupidity. Mortified, she pulled her arm from their combined clasp, but he held tight.
“Laney, don’t. Your impulse wasn’t wrong. I’ve missed you. More than you can know. For ten years, you’ve occupied my mind and my heart.” He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have tempted you from what’s important.”
“Tempted me?” Her eyes narrowed, distrust creeping in again. “Gareth, that wasn’t you before?”
“Before when?”
With an expletive, her cheeks warmed even more, but she had to ask. “The invisible man touch…thing.”
“You’ve lost me completely.”
Self-conscious, she pressed her lips together. “Someone groped me with invisible hands when I tried scrying for Eve. It nearly had me on the floor with my hand in my panties, it was that strong.”
Gareth’s face tightened. “Fucking Leith.”
“Leith.” She watched him. “Is he the rogue Sidhe responsible for this mess?”
Nodding, he swore. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to deflect his magic. What he did will never happen again.”
“No, it won’t.” She gave a satisfied snort. “I have a few tricks of my own and reversed it straight back to his balls. Hard.”
Gareth laughed, cupping Lane’s face. “Still my rebel Raven.”
“Yep, only now I have a cause. Let’s do what we have to and then blow this blood-pop stand. We have a decade that needs catching up.”
Chapter Four
Gareth took Lane by the hand. Power surged between them, enough for her to taste their combined energy on the back of her tongue.
They stood at the entrance to the backrooms, and she held her breath. She’d been in this position before, but always with some Were taking the lead with his tongue down her throat.
“Do you trust me?” Gareth pulled a short-bladed athame from a sheath at his belt, his expression giving nothing away.
She blinked at the glint from the razo
r-sharp tip. “Wow. I only wanted to kiss you, Gareth. A simple no thanks would have done me fine.”
He ignored her attempt at levity and held the athame steady. “Invoke a blood spell, Laney. Then draw the knife edge across my palm.” He held the blade out to her hilt first. “You remember how to do that, right?”
“I don’t like this, Gareth.” She noted the carved handle resting in his palm, with runes and magical sigils she didn’t recognize.
He urged the knife closer. “Take the athame, Lane. We’re dealing with dark magic, and we need to fight fire with fire. There’s only one way we’re getting inside this undead citadel, and that’s by enticing a vampire to open the door. We don’t want to involve another innocent, so it’s up to us. If my gut is correct, Eve’s date paid a high price for the chance at a piece of witchy ass.”
“Do you have to be so crude?” She exhaled a critical breath. Gareth voiced what she already thought. Eve and Mason were in deep shit.
She took the ritual knife from his hand with a less than gracious grunt. “What if this doesn’t work?” The hilt buzzed in her palm, latent with power. “Do we have a plan B?”
He didn’t answer.
“Blood is never used in white magic, Gareth.” She stalled further. “The fates are funny about that. Plus, they never grant exactly what you want. They can be sneaky little beggars, twisting words. Like the Djinn.”
“You’re right. The fates can be difficult, but in this case, they owe me, Laney. Phoenix blood or not.”
She puffed out the last of her indecision. “And you’re sure there’s no other way? What if we wait for someone to leave and then slip through the door unnoticed? People do it all the time all over the city, and it wouldn’t directly involve an innocent.”
“Lane, we need to do this on our own. Under our own steam.” With a nod, he urged his palm closer to the athame’s tip. “Don’t be a chicken shit.”
“If this goes south—”
“It won’t.” He nodded again. “Concentrate on what we need to happen, and then cast your best.”
There were no more arguments. Lane held her breath and positioned the blade’s sharp end over the center of Gareth’s palm. Locking eyes with him, she began the summoning spell.
Bewitch Me: The Red Veil Diaries: A Witchy/Fae Romance Page 3
