Witch Fire

by Anya Bast

  "Must have fallen off while you were accosting me," she snapped. She walked over and took it from him.

  He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away and drew her close to him. The muscles of his forearm and chest rippled with the movement. Skitters of pleasure and apprehension ran through her body as he brushed her damp hair away from her face and tipped her chin to the side to take a look at the bruise. "It's better today.”

  Mira frowned. "I'm not sure, but I think it's already healing. That doesn't seem likely.... Anyway, that's what it looks like.”

  "I helped it a little.”

  She scowled at him. "Not possible.”

  His gaze held hers steadily. "You have a lot to learn about what's possible." He studied her face for a moment. "You have very pretty eyes. They can't decide if they're brown or green.”

  She blinked and fought the urge to lower her gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Thanks.”

  He held her wrist for another heartbeat, and then released her.

  She pulled away from him and put on the necklace. "I suppose I'm meant to stay here for some length of time?”

  "I suppose you are.”

  "I'm going to need things if I'm going to be a prisoner. I have no clothing, other than that what your.. .friends may have left, and they, apparently, weren't human judging by their insignificant size. I need proper soap for my face, non-male-smelling shampoo ... and, goddamn it, I need fresh underwear!" she finished grouchily.

  He walked to the desk, got out a pen and pad of paper, and handed them to her. "Make a list. I'll get whatever you need.”

  She took the pen and paper, raising her eyebrows at him. "You're not going through my underwear drawer—”

  "Just make the list.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and made out the list while Jack finished dressing, then handed it to him.

  "I swear I won't go through your underwear drawer," he said. "Now, are you hungry? I made breakfast.”

  She mumbled "yes" and followed her nose to the kitchen. Mira hadn't gotten a good look at the rest of the apartment the day before since she'd been unconscious the first time she'd gone through it and fleeing for her life the second time.

  It was decorated much like the bedroom—expensively. The floors were polished wood and area rugs lay in front of the couch and in the foyer. A matching runner lined the hallway. Most of the heavy furniture was also wood. Modern artwork hung on the walls and sculptures stood on tables.

  The apartment had an open floor plan. A spiral staircase in the corner led to a loftlike area, a hallway, and a series of closed doors on the second floor, probably more bedrooms or maybe an office.

  It looked like a rich man's bachelor pad and had probably been decorated professionally. She couldn't really picture Jack picking out the elegant beige couch with the matching red embroidered cushions, or the gorgeous blue glass vase on the classy pedestal that stood against one wall.

  Or maybe one of his friends had helped him. Maybe after they'd gone shopping, he'd stripped her, pressed her over the back of the loveseat, and taken her from behind until she'd yelled out her climax to his swanky soundproofed apartment.

  Mira sighed. Clearly, she needed counseling and medication. The sexual thoughts and images that kept leaping into her mind were unusual for her. Not to mention, the thought of Jack with another woman seemed strangely unwelcome. She glowered at Jack as she passed into the kitchen as if it was his fault she'd taken leave of her senses.

  Well, hell. It was his fault.

  The kitchen was large, with a middle island. Above the island hung a big rack with copper pots and crystal wine glasses. Two places were set at a table in the recessed breakfast nook. Jack walked over with a pan and scooped a couple eggs and a few pieces of bacon onto both plates. Her stomach growled.

  She sat down at the place set with a bottle of aspirin. He was so considerate, her abductor. Mira poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and dug in only to get a mouthful of yuck. "It's cold," she complained.

  Jack reached out and touched her plate. "That should be better.”

  Shooting him a look that clearly said I think you're crazy, she took another bite of eggs and nearly had to spit them out they were so hot. Mira set her fork down and eyed him warily.

  "How much proof do you need, Mira?" Jack reached out and gathered her pentagram in his hand. He rubbed his knuckles against her collarbone until she shivered and her nipples hardened.

  "How can you blame me for doubting such a crazy story?”

  He pulled her gently forward until her nose was a few inches from his. His breath stirred the fine hairs framing her face. Those sensual lips were only a short space from her mouth. Mira's heart hammered in her chest. "This pentagram, I don't need to explain the symbol to you," he purred in his chocolate-smooth voice.

  She licked her lips and blinked nervously a couple of times. "It depends on your belief system. To me it symbolizes four points for the elements—earth, air, water, and fire. The top point is for Spirit. I'm aware how closely it aligns to your system of... m-magick." She had to fight to get the last word out.

  He stared into her eyes for a breathless moment. For half a second she thought he might kiss her, and her eyes went a bit wider. Her feelings regarding that possibility were alarmingly befuddled.

  Instead, he released her necklace and leaned back in his chair. "Annie tells me you never go a day without wearing it.”

  She eased away from him, strangely reluctant to do so, and fingered the pendant. The metal was still warm from his palm. Dropping it, she sighed. "Annie is Wiccan. She raised me that way.”

  "You could have rebelled against her religion. Kids rebel against their guardians for lots of different reasons. You could have chosen the faith of your parents. They were Catholic, right? Annie tells me you took to Wicca right off, held onto it tight all through your life.”

  Mira began eating her eggs again. They were good, sprinkled with basil and parsley and cooked to perfection. "So what does that prove?" she asked between mouthfuls.

  "Wearing that symbol around your throat every day of your life proves that you can take the woman out of witchcraft, but you can't take the witch out of the woman.”

  Mira ignored him and kept eating her meal. She didn't know how to respond to that, so she changed the subject. "So," she said, motioning at the room with her butter knife, "kidnapping people must be lucrative.”

  He paused with a bite of egg halfway to his lips. "I don't kidnap people for a living." He sounded a little amused, but mostly annoyed.

  "Really? What is it you do then?”

  "I work for Thomas Monahan, head of the Coven. I manage his security." He set his fork down and wiped his luscious mouth with a napkin.

  "You make yourself sound like a thug for hire.”

  He shrugged. "Sometimes I am, but most of the time more skill is involved. If you compare Monahan to the president of the United States, I would be the equivalent of the head of Secret Service or maybe the NSA.”

  "How did you get that job?”

  "Long story." He took a drink of coffee.

  That meant he didn't want to discuss it. Interesting.

  "So shouldn't you be off protecting Monahan, then?" she asked before she took another bite.

  He snorted. "Monahan doesn't need protection. He does that fine on his own. He told me to guard you.”

  "Because I'm an endangered species? Seems strange that such a big shot like you is spending his time protecting someone like me.”

  "You sell yourself short. Your kind is rare. But aside from that, don't be too certain that's the only reason Thomas Monahan wants you safe.”

  She set her fork down and regarded him in silence for a moment. "What do you mean?”

  Jack shrugged. "That's for him to explain, not me.”

  Her voice was poisonously sweet when she answered. "I think if you make a cryptic comment like that, I deserve an explanation.”

  "It's not my place to
say. I've said more than I should already." He shook his head. "You have this way of making me overstep my bounds. Just know you're special to Monahan, that's all, and not for any of the sinister reasons flitting through your mind right now.”

  She glared at him. The man sure did like to play head games.

  He rested his forearms on the table and stared at her with his unsettling blue eyes. Warmth became coldness. His light blue eyes seemed to have the strange ability to contain both ice and fire. His expression hardened.

  "It's not my place to say," he repeated with finality.

  "Fine," she bit off. That would be an argument for another time.

  He set his fork down. "You'll be missed at work today if you don't call in. You have to call the diner and tell them you won't be able to come into work for a while.”

  "How can you be sure I won't scream bloody murder into the phone to let Mike know I'm in trouble?”

  "First of all, you're not in any trouble, not here with me, anyway.”

  That was debatable. It depended on what kind of trouble he meant.

  "Second of all, I think you're curious enough to stick around for a while of your own free will.”

  She let out a short, derisive laugh. "You assume a lot. How am I supposed to survive without going to work? Some of us need our wages to pay the rent.”

  "Don't worry about money right now, not when your life is in danger. The Coven has already agreed to pay your bills for a time. Think of this as a paid vacation. Only, it's not.”

  "What?”

  "You need to be trained.”

  Mira stared at him for a moment before replying. "Why?”

  "You're a powerful breed of witch who hasn't had a day of instruction in her life. Don't you want to know who you are?”

  Mira winced. The comment hit her somewhere tender. She pushed away from the table, stood, and stalked away from him. "I know who I am, and it isn't a witch," she answered with her back to him.

  "You think you know who you are, Mira? I see a woman adrift, not one at all sure of her course. I see a woman who has only deluded herself into thinking she knows where she's going.”

  Mira closed her eyes, feeling the truth of those words spear through her. Ever since her divorce she'd been fighting so hard to guide her life down a more positive road, but she wasn't sure she'd headed herself in the right direction. Mira had wondered more than once if she might be fooling herself.

  She didn't even hear him approach. His hand fell on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. The expression he wore seemed conflicted, but she only had a moment to consider it. His arms wrapped around her, his heat and scent and masculinity closed over her, and he dragged her against his chest while his mouth came down on hers.

  And the rest of the world simply faded away.

  Slanting his mouth across hers, he flicked his tongue against her lips. She opened her mouth to allow him access and grabbed his upper arms, feeling the bunch and play of his biceps. His tongue stroked erotically against hers. Warm. Wet.

  Tasting. Testing.

  It wiped all the thought from her mind. Jolts of pleasure skittered up her spine and through her body. A growling sound that seemed part ecstasy, part torture curled from his throat and made her knees go weak.

  He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Both of them breathed fast and shallow. "Mira," he whispered. That one word seemed ripped from him.

  She wondered at the intensity of it, but then he kissed her again and she was drowning. This time his lips slid over hers slowly. Her body felt weakened from the easy silken slip of his mouth across hers. Jack nipped at her bottom lip, dragging it gently between his teeth, before angling his mouth over hers and delving his tongue between her lips once again.

  Mira heard some low, helpless sound and realized it was coming from her. The hardness of his erection pressed into her stomach. He was aroused. Very, very aroused.

  Jack pushed his hand beneath the hem of her sweater at the small of her back and touched skin. All she could do was hold on for dear life as he caressed her there, his strong fingers massaging her muscles with an authority that made her sex throb with need.

  He eased his hand up, lingering for a moment over her bra strap, then moved down to cup her jeans-clad rear. Jack pulled her flush against his big body and made a low, appreciative sound in the back of his throat.

  Apart from the knee-melting kiss, something else stirred inside her. It dwelt somewhere in the center of her chest, a whisper of power unfurling. It pulsed, then tickled, then tingled. Finally, it grew warm. It felt like a bud blossoming into a rose and reaching toward the sun.

  As Jack's mouth worked over hers, a tendril of power intensified and extended out, searching. Mira gasped into Jack's mouth as it found the curl of warmth emanating from him and twined with it. The power that bloomed from her felt light, but very strong. Jack's felt hot. It was a heat she knew instinctively had the ability to burn her in more ways than one.

  It was magick. Her magick. His magick.

  Mira knew it deeply and profoundly. Jack had called her magick out of her by using his own. Even though it was foreign, it felt like a long-lost part of herself, like coming home. She wanted to weep with the joy that filled her, sensing that tendril of power untwine like a waking dragon from somewhere near the heart of her.

  Tears filled her eyes and she stifled a moan, gripping his shoulders, as their magick danced together, rubbing up against each other, merging and parting. They seemed to feed off each other, complement each other.

  While he alternated sexy little tongue kisses with deeper, penetrating possessions of her mouth, their magick mated. The sensation was irresistible, and Mira's body responded hard and fast. Every little movement Jack made caused friction against her nipples through her clothing and arousal warmed her between her thighs.

  Damn the clothing anyway. She wanted to feel him skin-on-skin.

  FIVE

  HIS hard cock pressed against her, an overpowering temptation. Mira reached between their bodies, running her fingers over his shaft through his jeans. All she could think of was touching it, holding it, putting her mouth on it. She wanted it in her body, wanted to let their magick off their leashes to fully merge as their bodies did the same.

  Abruptly as he'd initiated it, Jack broke the kiss.

  "No, don't," she murmured before she could stop herself.

  He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes unfocused. "Do you feel that power inside you?”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip and staring at his mouth.

  "That's your magick reacting to mine—air to fire. Tell me you're not a witch now." His voice sounded strained.

  For a long, pregnant moment, he stared down at her. Her lips felt swollen from his kisses and her body ... wanted. Oh, how she wanted him, but he released her and stalked out of the room, swearing under his breath.

  Stunned at the sudden exit from paradise, Mira staggered backward on legs that felt like cotton. Her back hit the kitchen wall with a thud and she let herself slide down until she sat on the tile floor. Somewhere at the edges of her mind, she heard the condo door slam.

  Mira let out a careful, shuddering breath. Every part of her body still tingled. Her clit felt swollen, and her nipples were hard and sensitive. She wanted to cry because he'd left her that way, yet she was also a little relieved. While he kissed her, she'd fallen under some sort of strange spell. She would've slept with him, and that would've been a mistake.

  She grimaced at both that realization and also at the sensation of her magick receding, coiling once again in the center of her chest without Jack's fire to coax it from her. Sorrow welled up at the loss of it. Mira pressed her palm between her breasts and slowly inhaled. She'd never even known it was there, and now she missed its presence.

  With one kiss, Jack had clouded some things and made others incredibly clear. All of it was true. His magick, her magick. They were real, tangible things, forces of power within their bodies. N
ow that she'd held her magick in her hands, so to speak, there was no doubt.

  Mira closed her eyes. And, oh, fuck... she was a witch. A real one. Not just a Wiccan who called herself a witch. No. She was an honest-to-Goddess witch with powerful magick to call.

  She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

  That meant that everything else was true. Her parents hadn't died in a car crash; they'd been murdered. Worse, the murderer had gotten away with it.

  Mira licked her lips, still tasting Jack on them, and swallowed hard. There was the possibility that she might be able to somehow bring her parents' killers to justice— whatever justice might exist in this case. Adrenaline shot through her just thinking about it. She was not exactly a rough-and-tumble kind of girl, ready to rampage across the country in search of revenge, but they had murdered her parents. She wanted ... needed to make them pay for that.

  Jack was right. She would stay here of her own free will.

  She got up and searched for a phone. Sinking into an armchair, she took the cordless handset she found on an end table in the living room and punched the number of the restaurant with trembling fingers.

  The lie stuck on her tongue, but she told Mike that she was having a family emergency and needed some time off to get it straightened out. It was even sort of true. At least she didn't have to fake the quavering emotion in her voice.

  It's not like she could tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him that she'd discovered that some of the things that went bump in the night were actually real and she was one of them. And, oh, by the way, she had to avenge her parents' deaths at the hands of a group of warlocks while trying to prevent those same warlocks from using her to raise a demon.

  Somehow she just didn't think Mike would believe her.

  Like the great guy he was, Mike assured her they could cope without her for a while and wished her well. Told her to hurry back and that her job would be waiting for her when she returned.

  Mira hung up with a lump in her throat and tears burning her eyes. Working at the diner had been her anchor for months, and now she felt adrift. Chaos had engulfed her life within the last twenty-four hours and chaos had a name—Jack McAllister.