Bewitch Me: The Red Veil Diaries: A Witchy/Fae Romance

by Marianne Morea

  “Hear me in this witching hour, as I intreat the ancient power. Turn the tables, three times three, with banshee’s cry reveal the Sidhe. Of Maid, of Mother and of Crone, blood to blood, and bone to bone—”

  Gareth’s eyes turned a golden hue as she dragged the razor tip across his flesh. A soft line of red formed, and she continued.

  “Spirits from the misty veil, I summon forth and avail. From blooded blade safeguard and take, the sacrifice we now make. Magic pure combined and sealed, a captive’s path now revealed.”

  Before he could stop her, Lane twisted the athame around and sliced her own palm as well. Blood pooled, and she clasped her hand to his, mingling their offering.

  The ritual steel sandwiched between their palms glowed white hot, sizzling their wounded flesh. Lane hissed at the unexpected pain, instinctively jerking her hand back, but Gareth tightened his grip, keeping their blood fused.

  “Don’t let go.” His voice left no room for questions.

  Lane’s throat constricted and she squeezed her eyes closed. Visions played behind her lids with seers’ sight.

  “Eve!” She winced, trying to sort through fragmented images, swallowing back at the thick smell of blood and sweat in her nose.

  The visions ebbed before she could pinpoint anything concrete, but at least now she had a direction.

  “Show me where she is, dammit!” With a grunt, Lane jerked Gareth’s hand forward with hers, smearing their combined blood on the locked door.

  The center steel panel buckled, as vampiric wards crumbled. In seconds, the heavy door swung wide revealing an angry vampire in the entry.

  He looked first to Gareth and then to Lane, his nostrils flaring. “The backrooms are off limits to you lot! I don’t know how you two managed to offset my wards, but—” The vampire paused midsentence, sniffing his best British highbrow sniff.

  Shrewd red eyes flicked from the bloodied door to them and back before he paused, licking his lips. “Is this your best try?” he scoffed, dragging a single finger over the fresh, bloody smear.

  Lane opened her mouth to argue, but Gareth pushed her behind his hip, shutting her up.

  The vampire licked his finger clean. His red eyes glazed over immediately, and a silly smile replaced his stiff undead upper lip.

  The veins in his pallid face glowed a faint blue, and he sighed, putting both hands flat on the door before leaning in to lick it clean.

  “Oh, that’s lovely. Brilliant.” The vampire snorted, half sputter, half giggle, as his posh accent devolved. “Please, sir,” he turned glassy eyes to Gareth, “I want some more.”

  “Listen, Oliver Twist. If you let us through, and then leave us to our business, you may have another taste.” Gareth lifted their bloody hands for show and tell. “But only if you don’t bother us.”

  The vampire simpered, resting his cheek on the door’s cold surface. “There’s much to be bothered with in here.” He thumped the door with a limp fist. “Bother, bother, bother.”

  “Is he drunk?” Lane whispered, stunned.

  “That was the plan.” He tugged her around to his side, motioning for her to move slowly. “Your spell added power to the Fae trace in our blood, tripling its allure. The effect will wear off soon enough, though vamp-boy will have a doozy of a hangover. I think another little nip will give us the time we need to search for Eve.”

  Staring at the silly look on the vampire’s face, she stifled a laugh when he wiped his nose on his shirt’s frilly front brocade. “Oh man. He’s drooling like a toothless bulldog.”

  “Exactly. One drop more and he should pass out completely.”

  “Gareth, if you’re planning what I think, please don’t. The undead can’t be trusted around fresh blood. Drunk or not, I’m getting a distinct NatGeo Wild vibe. Pulling your wrist back will be like taking a juicy kill away from a starving animal.”

  “Way ahead of you, love.” He winked, slipping a small, clear vial from his pocket. The tiny glass flashed iridescent in the light when he held it up for her to see. “I’m not letting his fangs anywhere near my veins, or yours for that matter.”

  Letting go of Lane’s hand, he held the vial to his wound and folded his fingers into his palm. He squeezed, letting the narrow vial catch the calculated trickle before corking the glass.

  “Hey, Dracula, do a witch solid, eh?” Gareth opened his palm and held it outward. “Seal the wound and then leave us be. If you do what we ask, then this is all yours to savor.” He held the small glass container between the thumb and forefinger.

  The vampire snatched Gareth’s palm to his mouth, groaning as he tongued the wound. When finished, he turned red eyes to Lane, but she shook her head.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Dracula smacked his lips. Defenseless or not, she flinched at his fully descended fangs. She scooted past, letting Gareth finish their transaction.

  With all the times she’d been in the backrooms, she’d seen vampires come and go, but never courted one. Telling Eve to look but don’t touch wasn’t just lip service.

  Wincing, she wrapped her injured hand with the black ribbon she wore around neck, using her teeth to pull the knot tight. The burn hurt like hell, but the thin cut had stopped bleeding. Still, she wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Worked like a charm.” Gareth came up beside her wearing a shit-eating grin, gesturing toward the helpless vamp.

  She followed his gaze only to see the vampire slumped against the closed reinforced steel like a drunk in an office doorway.

  “Maybe we should have left the door open for a quick escape.” She smirked. “We can add that to the list for later, along with the other thing.”

  “What other thing?”

  “How you knew the spell and the blood would work.” This time, she took him by the hand. “C’mon. I’m taking the lead now.”

  Despite the crowd in the main club, the backrooms’ white marbled anteroom was empty. Telltale sounds from sex play drifted from various rooms, making her very aware of Gareth’s proximity.

  He was still the sexiest man she’d ever seen. That she used to know every inch of him intimately wasn’t wasted on her, making his closeness even more visceral.

  “Interesting place. Reminds me of the ancient brothels in Pompei.” He let go of her hand to circle the mosaic floor depicting various sex acts.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t pull the prude card with me, Gareth Fairfax. You forget, I know you pretty well.” She stopped herself. Heated memories were making her mouth go dry again. “Or at least I used to.”

  He slipped his hand into her palm again, careful not to squeeze too hard. “I haven’t changed that much. A few scars here and there, but if you play your cards right, I’ll let you connect the dots the same way I used to with the freckles on your cheeks.”

  Her gaze met his, and for a moment it was just the two of them and no one else mattered.

  “That’s not exactly how I remember that game,” she cleared her throat, “but let’s not go there right now.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your face, love.” He smacked her butt, letting his hand linger.

  “If you’re going to spank me, Gareth, you better be prepared for whatever comes next. I’m not an inexperienced girl anymore. I learned a lot in these backrooms.”

  Gareth stroked her inner elbow. “I’ve got plenty planned for you, love, and I don’t care how many times you’ve been here. To be honest, it’s a turn on.” He leaned in, nipping the base of her ear. “Bring on the show and tell.”

  Lane’s body burned with expectation. Her pulse raced and she had to stifle the urge to sink to her knees and lick Gareth’s thighs and everything in between.

  Clearing her throat again, she removed her arm from his caress and stepped back.

  “You want me, Lane.”

  She met his eyes but didn’t reply.

  “I feel it in my bones, love. That pull between us. It hasn’t changed. From the moment I sensed you, my cock was hard enough to cut diam
onds, but your need is even more intense. Is your pretty pink pussy as sweet as I remember?” He nodded. “I plan to find out. When this is over, I’m going to spread you wide, lay you down and pound your soft mound until you scream for release.”

  “Gareth.”

  He shook his head, lifting her hand to his lips. “No, Lane. You need to hear this. I want to heal you and hold you and fuck you, because you’re mine and I’m yours. The way it should have been before the fates fucked us over.”

  He kissed her knuckles and then let go of her hand, walking toward one of the tiled archways.

  Lane didn’t follow.

  He glanced back at her hesitation. “If you expect me to apologize for my raw words, forget it. We have a second chance, Lane. I’m not sorry for grabbing it with both hands.”

  “I’m glad you’re not sorry.”

  He blinked. “Then what?”

  “You’re going the wrong way.”

  His mouth opened and closed for a moment. “Why didn’t you say something, then?”

  “I would have, but you were on a such roll, I didn’t want to interrupt.” She smirked, stifling a chuckle.

  He reached her in two strides, sweeping his arms around her waist. “Bitch.”

  “Gareth Fairfax, I do believe there’s a chink in your perfect armor.”

  He tightened his grip, letting his lips hover over hers. “You have always been my weakness.”

  Before she could say a word, he took her mouth, crushing his lips to hers, hard and fast.

  Heat zinged through her body and her breath caught in her throat. His kiss was harsh, as though ten years of want had suddenly found release.

  She fisted the back of his shirt as his lips plundered her mouth. Lane moaned, meeting his fierce demand with her own. Pushing every reservation to the back of her mind, she reveled in his taste. It was raw and elemental. Conjuring the spirit of wind and rain, fire, and dark earth, filling her both with primal need and promise.

  Gareth’s hand dropped from the nape of her neck to caress the curve of her waist. Fingers trailed across thin fabric to seize the weight of her full breast.

  “Gareth, stop,” she murmured. “Eve—”

  He left her vulnerable and wanting, so much so she pulled away. She barely had breath to rein herself in, but she had no choice. If this was where she and Gareth were meant to be, they’d find each other again.

  Sliding his hand around her waist, Gareth held her before she slipped past. “Don’t pull away, Lane. I didn’t come back to hurt you.”

  “I’m not a fringe benefit, Gareth.”

  She turned to look away, but he cupped her chin, making her meet his eyes. “And I’m not an opportunist. I haven’t changed that much, Laney. Neither have my feelings. You were never on the fringe of anything. Not for me. You were always special. I knew it then, and I know it now.”

  Lane didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away either.

  “If you truly don’t want me. Don’t want this—” He slid his hand to cup her breast again. “Then say the word, and I’ll back off.”

  The choice was hers, and her jaw tightened with uncertainty. Even now, with her panties damp and her nether regions throbbing for his touch, she knew this had to wait.

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Gareth was still the same gorgeous goofball she knew all those years ago. Of that she was sure. And he was right. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  “I’m sorry, Lane. You’re uncertain, and I should’ve expected that. Especially under the circumstances.” He shook his head, hesitant. “Seeing you again. Knowing in my gut you’ve wanted me, the way I’ve wanted you.”

  Her breath caught at the need in his eyes. “Uhm, maybe we should talk more about this, sooner than later.”

  “Talk?” He nipped her bottom lip.

  “You know what I mean.”

  His lips curved. “I do. Or at least I hope.” He stepped back but kept hold of her hand. “Okay, Witchy Waze. Where are we headed?”

  She pointed to the only red-tiled passageway in the antechamber and then took a step toward its entrance.

  Gareth held tight, tugging her back.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, confused at his hesitation. “This is what I saw in my vision.”

  He pointed to the inscription above the arch. “I read French, love, and that is definitely not welcome to Munchkin Land.”

  “I know what it means, Gareth. And no, we are categorically not in Oz.”

  The engraved inscription was akin to the warning at the entrance to Hell in Dante’s Inferno. “Corrupted soul, blood and lust reside within. Enter at your own peril.”

  She nodded, impressed.

  “Obviously, the undead have a penchant for melodrama.”

  “Not really. This passage is where the undead take the most debauched of their playmates, so it’s anything but theatrical. Through here, anything goes. There’s even an Oubliette for those that don’t make it.”

  He frowned, staring at the inscription a moment longer. “I wonder if people know what they’re getting themselves into. The threshold of no return.”

  “Plenty of people return, Gareth. They come back for more. Safe words aren’t just for BDSM. Consent is key. Same as it is for regular people.”

  His face was unapologetic. “Regular people don’t toss unfortunate partners into an Oubliette, never to be seen again.”

  She watched his shoulder muscles hunch. “Considering where we are, you might not want to voice your disapproval too loudly. Especially since the FC is that way.” Her gaze tracked the length of the shadowed corridor.

  “FC?”

  “Fang Central. Otherwise known as the New York Vampire Council, to be precise.”

  His posture stiffened and darkness shadowed his face for a moment. She watched it war in his eyes and then disappear almost as quickly as it came.

  “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression, and for that I apologize. I’ve endured blood play for sport, Laney. It’s not something I take lightly, regardless of consent.”

  Guilt slashed, sharp and fast, making her sorry for assuming. Sorry for being so condescending and glib. Ten years was a long time and she had no right to judge.

  “I’m sorry, Gareth.”

  He inhaled a quick breath but managed a soft smile. “I’m in this with you for the duration, but right now my Spidey senses are going nuts, and I you need to stay behind me. I have a few tricks up my sleeve I can’t explain, but if things go south, I’ll need a clean line of sight.”

  Lane raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. She squeezed his hand, and together they crossed the threshold into the dim unknown.

  Chapter Five

  “He wants you.” Bette stood in the doorway to Abigail’s office, her eyes watching the elegant vampire as she studied her computer screen.

  “He always wants me.” Abigail waggled her eyebrows, still typing. “And I thought vampires were insatiable. Trust me, the fanged and furry got nothing on us—and not just at the full moon.” She mimicked a growl.

  “Not Dash, Abby. Rémy. He needs to speak to you.”

  She glanced at her assistant, frowning. “Can’t you handle it? If these license renewals don’t get paid, the Red Veil will be a G-rated juice bar by Friday night.”

  “Abby. He’s not kidding.”

  She ignored Bette. “Fucking city bureaucrats. Licenses, my ass. More like extortion, yet we’re the bloodsuckers.”

  “Abigail! Pay attention. A Were died last night. In the backrooms.”

  Abby’s hands stopped mid-keystroke, and she turned, giving her full attention to Bette. “Fuck. Please tell me it has nothing to do with HepZ. We can’t handle another breakout, Bette. Not so soon after everything.”

  “It’s not the virus, Abs. It’s worse. I think you’d better let Rémy explain. If you’re worried about the club, those licenses are the least of it.”

  Bette moved to one of the chairs in front of Abby’s large desk. “Look, I
know you and Rémy prefer to handle things quietly, but this time—”

  “This time, what?” Abby looked at her over the top of her laptop.

  The younger vampire paused, clearly choosing her words. “This time, I don’t think we have a choice to do things our way. There are other parties involved, and our usual means of disposal will,” she hesitated, “raise questions we might not want answered.”

  With an indifferent wave, she went back to her laptop. “Donors know the risk when they sign up for the lifestyle.”

  “If you say so.” Bette fidgeted with the end of her cuff.

  Abby looked at her again. “Your fidgeting is screaming a different argument. What aren’t you telling me? This incident was accidental, right?”

  Bette pressed her lips together.

  “Christ’s blood on toast!” Abby snatched her phone console closer and buzzed her secretary.

  “Yes?” The tinny intercom crackled.

  “Calypso, I need you to call—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Bette waved both hands in front of her chest wildly. Abby put the intercom on mute. “What the fuck, Bette?”

  “If you’re asking her to call Dash, don’t. Rémy doesn’t want the Weres involved until we know more.”

  Exhaling hard, Abigail unmuted the intercom. “Never mind, Calypso. I’ll take care of this myself.”

  “No problem, ma’am.”

  Bette hadn’t been undead long enough to let innate vampiric hubris get in the way of common sense. Why else would the council keep her around, if not for the occasional reality check?

  Resting an elbow on her desk, Abigail curled a finger over her lip. “Has Rémy seen the body? Be honest. How bad is this?”

  The look on Bette’s face spoke volumes.

  “Lord love a dick.” Abigail exhaled, chewing on her lip. She slid open a side desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jameson’s Black Label and an insulated flask.

  “Grab two glasses from the sideboard,” she indicated the cherrywood cabinet by the couch. “I think we’re both going to need this.”