The grip around her arm tightened, not wounding, but securing. With gentle care, he cupped the side of her face. Her eyes shot open. The thump of his heart pounded against her chest. Or might that be her heart thrashing into his?
Breath fled in low gasps as she stared into dark eyes, then lowered to his mouth, and what a mouth, thick in shape, sensual, and yet, set in a firm line, resembling a Spartan warrior.
“You can’t hurt me, remember?” Nerves trembled her voice, but she somehow found the courage to speak.
“I know,” he murmured with tender affection. “But I can do this.”
He drew her down. On instinct her eyes drifted to half-mast, and his lips raised over her soft ones in a harsh, punitive kiss. She quivered, tasting hatred when his tongue thrust inside, and apprehended his aim. Unable to harm her, he threatened her with his kiss.
She could play this game. With the same force, she kissed him, closing around his lower lip and biting. His soft growl shuddered through her throat, and she felt him harden below her belly. The kiss ended fast. They parted, both panting. She shoved at his chest, and jumped off him.
Dark eyes slitted in warning. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Hot coals roasted her cheeks. He kissed her. So, if he found the concept abhorrent, good. He deserved it. A knock at the front door saved her from saying something embarrassing. Amber swallowed a groan, and made for the foyer.
“Hello, Amber. I hear you haven’t been home since this thing happened with your cousin. Anyhow, is your brother here?” Patty Thompson asked, tilting her already uptilted nose. If mere talking could designate a person for sovereignty, then the older Elite would be crowned a Gossip Queen.
Tonight, she must be wary of what she said and did; otherwise her mother would receive a mouthful from Patty. “Hello, Patty.” The Thompson clan of nine waited behind the older witch, all with solemn expressions.
Actually, make that eight. “Where’s Tabitha?” The normal one, she was tempted to add. Tabitha was the youngest Thompson, and had been a good friend of Amber’s for years.
“She’s held up at work,” Patty’s husband, Charles, said. “Check your phone, I’m sure she’s left you a message.”
Yes, she didn’t doubt it. Tabitha was known for texting more than calling.
“Posture, Amber,” Patty instructed, nudging her arm as if she were a rotatable doll.
She took the hint, uncurled her shoulders, and forced a smile. “Not so fast.” Amber blocked the door when Patty stepped closer, peering at each member. “I must tell you, inside is a werewolf, and…Brianna is here.” She took in each of their reactions, and as predicted, gasps and open-mouthed stun was the result.
“Here?” Charles uttered with disbelief.
“Yes, she’s not alone, but with her vampire moitié, Councilor Tristan Delacroix.” She added the title of his status for a dramatic effect. Patty never considered Brianna a true Johnson because of the adoption, and once Amber overhead her mother agreeing with the uptight witch. It felt good to throw this in the woman’s face.
Another round of gasps and sharp inhales echoed the front porch. Patty’s throat bobbed, and she tucked a blonde strand from her up-do behind her ear.
“Well, now that I’ve enlightened you all.” Amber smoothed down her creased top. “I hope you guys are in the mood for a party.”
****
While he didn’t plan on killing Amber, he wouldn’t tell her that. Let her assume he was some murderous maniac. It might make her contemplate before placing a stranger under a spell. And the sad part, they weren’t strangers. She was the enemy. Last time he checked; enemies didn’t kiss. What the hell had he been thinking? He had her inches away, but couldn’t punish her…so he kissed her.
Her breath hitched when his lips had touched hers, but then she kissed him back, and for a brief moment he revelled in the perfect way she fit against him. Her warm breasts supported by his chest, her sex cradled between his thighs, awakening his body with an urgent hardness.
In those too-short moments, he imagined stripping her naked and taking her. He’d come so close to softening, making her wanton, making her crave him, desperate to hear her whisper please, oh, please. Anger thundered inside him at admitting he enjoyed their little battle of tongues. He shouldn’t have, but for some stupid reason he did.
What if he wasn’t under her spell, would he still have punished her or kissed her? The notion scared him, and he refused to dwell on the answer.
Witches crammed the condo, some in the living room talking with Amber, some in the kitchen, admiring Lucas’ voodoo juice. A group spoke with Tristan and Brianna. All of them reeked of money and power, and he didn’t doubt they were a high-class clan. A few had approached him with a smile, but one glimpse at his sour expression made them retreat.
Pizza boxes stacked the kitchen countertop and small round dining table. At first they seemed appalled Amber ordered such insalubrious food, but to his surprise the posh bunch enjoyed it.
Each person ate, drank, and socialised…all, aside from one older blonde who scrunched her uptilted nose at the greasy slices being served. Then there was Tristan, who was unable to ingest anything except Brianna’s blood. Not that he fed from her with everyone present. He must be starving.
Amber’s laughter summoned his attention. Her humour seemed faked, as though she put on a show in front of these witches to impress them. Lucas mentioned earlier how she placed the Johnson reputation at risk.
Status meant more to them than family. He planned to lead his tribe, not to be better than the rest, but to strengthen their pack.
Amongst Amber’s little group, a female in a fitted dress tied her hair into a ponytail. Was that a freckle on the back of her neck? He straightened from his reclined position to study it, heart pounding into overdrive. No, only a single freckle, not a set of three.
Amber’s laughter drew his attention a second time. She chatted with some dapper warlock, playfully slapping his arm when the man whispered in her ear. Couldn’t she see his eyes were on her breasts? Did she have to bat her lashes and giggle? What were they talking about anyway? He settled further into the sofa, and allowed his werewolf hearing to do the listening.
“Excuse me a moment,” she said, and ambled into the kitchen.
So much for eavesdropping.
Tristan approached with a humorous gleam. “You like her, admit it,” he said in French.
“Who?” he replied in the same language.
“Amber. You fancy the woman.”
He snickered. “Just because you have heart shapes floating in your eyes, doesn’t mean everyone else does. You, monsieur, are dead wrong.”
“In Désuet, you told me you wouldn’t go a ten-mile radius near her…now look at you.”
Chayton smacked his forehead. “Um…what part of Keeper Spell don’t you understand?”
“If you insist,” Tristan chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. “Won’t you at least mingle?”
“Why should I? These people are different from our kinds.”
Tristan perched on the armrest of the sofa. “Sometimes different is good. Don’t forget, our kinds were created by witches.”
Yeah, he’d learned the history. A thousand years ago, Sylvestre Marcel lost his entire family during a battle with Vikings. With the help of witches, he held blood rituals and convinced the townspeople to drink from each other on full moons.
The village grew powerful, and defended themselves against the enemy, but half relied on blood to survive, and the other half needed to run with the moon. The vampires asked the family of witches to make the werewolves like them, but they were unable. So began the first feud between werewolves, witches, and vampires.
“At least things worked out for you and Brianna. You seem a lot happier than the last time we met.”
He grinned. “I am, and I’m sorry I can’t free you from the spell. You were very kind to help me contact a member of Brianna’s family. In the future, don’t
hesitate to ask me for anything.”
Regret still sat with him for agreeing in the first place. He should have kept his big mouth shut that night in Désuet instead of warning Tristan about the posters.
He’d seen Brianna’s missing person photo, and remembered spotting her a few times with Amber several years ago. “Yeah, well…” Chayton paused when Amber leaned against the wall, staring his way, perhaps remembering the kiss they shared, the rough dance of lips and tongue…Hell, why did he muse over it? “What?” he snapped.
She fumbled with the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“Chayton is half French—”
He nudged Tristan in the side, a clear indication to shut the hell up. “Isn’t it bad enough she forces information out of me when she wants?”
Tristan grinned and shook his head.
“Forget it, Tristan.” She waved her hand with nonchalance. “I came to tell you the clans are leaving, and want to say goodnight.”
Tristan scanned the room. “Where’s Brianna?”
“She’s in the kitchen, cleaning. I’m about to go help her.”
“I’ll say goodbye to the guests, then join you ladies.” Tristan smiled, then walked off.
Chayton stretched his arms above his head. “Don’t assume I’ll be cleaning.”
Her hands slapped her hips. “I know better than to ask you for help.”
Something should be done about her attitude. He wondered how far he could push until her bravado collapsed. He’d soon find out. “Good, because I’m happy sitting here, visualising the most enjoyable way of killing you.”
His tone was phlegmatic, as if he spoke about the weather. “I can slit your throat.” He took things too far, but it worked. Her lips thinned, and she inhaled deep. “Or maybe I’ll choke you with your own shirt.” He nodded at the one she wore. “I could use my hands, but can’t stand the thought of touching you.” Was that a blush staining her cheeks?
“You should have considered that before kissing me.” Her reddish-blonde hair swished when she pivoted, and made for the kitchen.
After the witches left, Lucas swept the floors by waving his hand with swift strokes. Dust particles gathered into one, small pile.
Brianna dumped empty pizza boxes into the open trash bag Tristan carried. “Can you guys help me take these to the bin?” she asked.
Lucas stopped his sweeping motions, and plucked up a full bag. Tristan carried the rest, and they followed Brianna out the front door.
Chayton rose from the sofa, stretching his muscles, and yawning. He stopped outside the kitchen, and propped against the archway. Amber scrubbed at the dishes with a sponge. A glass slipped and dunked into the sink, splashing soapy water over the edge, and wetting the front of her transparent shirt.
“Crap!” She undid the buttons and removed her top, leaving only her bright pink cami. He would have admired her light tan, and the sexy curves of her hips, but lost the chance when the blood in his veins bubbled, making him shiver.
He hugged his waist. Little electric zaps surged in his arms, his legs. The inner hold withered. Clink. Clink. Clink. Each restraint broke. He was released. But, the week wasn’t finished. How did the spell break? Did it matter? He was free. Free…to exact revenge.
Not only the hatred in the last two days sprouted, but anger from the past seven years added to his current animosity, fuelling his wrath. His frustration couldn’t be ignored. Yes, he discerned her reason for what she did. But, once again she threw him in the crossfire. That required payback.
She piled the sink with more dirty dishes, shaking soap suds off her hands, and fitting her hair into a bun at the top of her head.
Determined, he stalked forward. She was too distracted to notice his sudden movement. Good. Closer now, he just had to drag her to his truck, to his house, and lock her in the basement for a week? He’d have laughed, but his bones almost jolted out of his skin.
He squinted, studying her neck, and forcing air into his lungs. Must be dirt or cotton fluff. No way did three perfect aligned freckles mark her nape, three dainty specks that shook his world. This must be a terrible coincidence. Not her. Anyone, but her.
Her breath hitched, and she raised her drenched palm in the air, flexing her shaky fingers. Glancing over her shoulder, azure eyes widened. “The leash broke.”
Unconscious of his actions, he snatched her upper arm, and fisted the hem of her shirt high. Three freckles down her spine.
No!
Another three freckles amidst the dimples in her lower back.
Oh Hell! This must be a sick joke!
“No, you don’t.” Lugging her shirt from his grip, she shot across the room, hand lifted in warning to keep his distance. “I don’t know how the spell broke, but you’re not going to choke me with my shirt.”
Wait, she’s not going to…
“Four walls surround the man within my sight. Four walls must reach past his tall height, four walls durable to withstand his fight!”
Yeah, she did. “Dammit, Amber, not again! Release me!”
She twirled left, right. Suds dripped off her fingers and onto the vinyl floor. Perhaps considering her next move, she paused near the dining table. He followed her gaze to the purple bottle Lucas flaunted earlier, now perched in the centre of the oak wood. The potion the warlock hadn’t tested yet, a dangerous substance strong enough to send anyone anywhere if they weren’t careful.
Panic raced through his veins as she darted to the table. “Amber! Don’t you dare! Amber!”
She twisted and faced him with a slow shake of her head. Her eyes, big and round, filled with tears and so much heartache. “I will set you free, but I’m not sticking around for you to have your revenge.” A single tear roved her cheek.
Now he understood the hollow wound pulsating inside his chest, so potent, he wanted to cry. Every time sadness swamped him, it had been her sorrow. All along her emotions thrummed within, but he couldn’t see who stood in front of him…his mate. “Amber, listen to me.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I just want to talk. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She smacked her hands over her ears and sobbed. Of course she wouldn’t trust him after all the threats he made. “Please,” he repeated.
She bit her lower lip and stepped closer.
Yes, yes, she’d hear him out.
Uncorking the flask, she downed the liquid, sipping its entire contents.
No, no, no.
She held out her hand, palm facing upward. “Release!”
The invisible box trapping him dropped like a latent curtain. “Amber!” He lunged for her, arms circled her waist, and he’d have smiled if she hadn’t exploded in the next instant. Pink glitter and smoke brewed around him. He swung his arms, attempting to catch and hold her, but she was gone, and he was the last person she’d come back for.
Chapter 5
She longed to go home. Amber brushed the drape aside. The small window framed a half-empty parking lot, and on the horizon, the sun rose, mixing the sky with pastel pink and yellow.
Oh, to sleep in her own room, her bed. Who would have guessed she’d miss the damn two-story house? With nothing left for her at Brianna’s condo, and naught here, she craved to be thrown in natural surroundings, even if it meant living with her obnoxious mother again. But Chayton might track her.
Damn him.
Empty candy bar wrappers, and a bag of potato chips sat in the paper sack on the desk. She’d kill for a decent breakfast, pancakes, French toast with blueberries, or hell, a bowl of Cocoa Krispies.
She rummaged in her purse and checked the inner pockets for cash. As predicted, she had nothing, except for a few coins, business cards, and a thirty-dollar voucher for the French Chocolate Lounge in her hometown.
The night she drank the potion, she had flashed to her home in Asheville. Had Lucas intended for the concoction to teleport there, or had it been a fluke? She didn’t know. Her parents hadn’t been home, so she used the hidden key to
enter, and collected her purse with the spare credit card she only used for extreme emergencies. She had then left a quick apology note for stealing her Ma’s car, and drove for most of the night until ending up in Selma, Alabama. That was a week ago.
One week. Did this mean Chayton was on the prowl? Or maybe her family somehow stopped him. Or a miracle, he figured how stupid his threats were and chose to let bygones be bygones. What about Brianna?
If Amber hadn’t been so anxious to escape, she could have had extra time with her. Why hadn’t she called out for help, let all of them assist in subduing Chayton? She bit her lower lip, twisting the shower taps. That wouldn’t have been fair. He’d been in this mess because of her, and she wanted him free.
She stripped off her underwear, and spotted the complimentary shampoo and conditioner samples in the caddy.
Thank you, Craig Motel.
Not her favourite apple fragrance, but the shampoo still managed to do the job. Changing her scent just might save her life, since Chayton could trace her. Steamy water soaked her hair, cascading over her body. She closed her eyes and savoured the sensation. The hot shower was the one thing resembling home. What if she could return? With any luck, her mother might protect her with a spell.
“Amber.”
Her eyes shot open and darted around the bathroom. The voice in her mind sounded very male. Not just any, but deep, husky. Chayton’s voice. No, couldn’t be.
“Amber, can you hear me?”
The door and tiny window were shut. She blinked at the tiled wall, waiting for him to step through it or something. “Shit,” she whispered, and rushed to rinse her hair.
Outside the bathroom, she peeked into the one bedroom. The latch still secured the door, and no one occupied the small space. Amber leaned her forehead on the doorframe. She had mused over him so much this last week, now his voice played in her mind.
A towel lay across the glass frame, and she turned off the shower, wrung her hair, and snatched the fluffy material, tucking it beneath her arms. Inside the adjoining laundry, she removed her clothes from the dryer, the same black denim jeans and pink cami.
Hateful Desire Page 6
