She reacted instantly, drawing a knife he hadn’t bothered noting and pressing it to his belly as if she’d gut him where he stood. His cock responded with a hard throb. His body accepting, craving her even as his mind rebelled.
The blade tip slid through the thin shirt he’d willed into existence, breaking skin. And the release of his blood undid a masking spell, revealed the ice blue sigils scrawled across her forehead like a thorn crown, and around her wrists like manacles. Angelic symbols of binding not visible to any mortal. A script placed there by one of his kind, the power necessary to turn flesh into a living prison the telltale signature of only one ally working with the Djinn.
Addai’s heart sang. She wasn’t human as he’d thought seconds before, but Djinn trapped in a human form, returned to him as promised.
His eyes noted it then, the thin, tight chain worn around her neck like a collar. Sigils etched into the gold and holding knowledge he could only guess at, the pendant, scorpion shaped. The mark of her Djinn House and symbol of a protector. The identification of her soul’s nature.
“Release me,” she said.
Never. But he held the words and complied only so he could better take her measure.
“Did The Master send you?” she asked again.
He fought the pulling back of his lips in a savage smile promising retribution. She would call no one else master. Only him.
Addai glanced at the scarring on her arm and recognized the sigil as a farmer recognizes a dung beetle before stepping on it. Tucci.
Not allies.
Yet, the voice of reason managing to suppress his urge to kill.
If he was to achieve his goal, seeing the return of the Djinn and the control of this world taken so he could live openly with Sajia and know their children would be safe, then he couldn’t afford war on another front, especially with vampires.
Addai suppressed a curse as the message delivered by Irial, the reminder from Iyar en Batrael that all things were part of the weave, took on new meaning.
Sajia would be a foundling placed in the world. Delivered into the hands of humans and her reality shaped by them, her loyalty given to them—and worse, to a vampire scion.
“I’m here for you,” he said, an ambiguous answer.
She frowned in response but drew the knife away from his skin. His testicles pulled tight in protest at the loss of contact, in anticipation of reclaiming it.
Once fear had served as challenge and erotic excitement. But now he found implied violence had the same effect.
She would submit. She would find pleasure in calling him master.
“Shall we go?” he asked, eyes flicking in the direction of the counter and the man behind it.
She sheathed the knife. “Yes.”
They left the shop and though she tried to hide her weakness, he was so finely attuned to her that he caught the sigh of relief and the subtle relaxing of her body. Magic of the kind found in the occult shop was anathema to the Djinn. Few could work it, and many found it sickening to be in its presence.
A few steps away she stopped and turned to him, hands resting on the hilts of her knives.
He smiled in challenge, daring her to pull them from their sheaths.
“Has Corinne been found?”
Addai made the connection immediately, between the question and Sajia’s position as bajaran. His smile faded to a frown, and his amusement flashed to irritation at seeing an inevitable delay before he could take her to his bed.
“No.”
“Then why am I being summoned back to the estate?”
“Did I say as much? I said only that I am here for you. And I am. Did you discover anything useful at the shop?”
“I’ve never seen you before.”
He shrugged. “I am Addai.”
“I don’t know that name. Prove you serve the Tuccis.”
His smile returned, as sharp as one of her knives. He’d spent no time among the Tucci, but it was his business to know the lineage of all the vampire families in San Francisco. Even without the prospect of alliance, he would have gathered the information. Like the Djinn, vampires were natural enemies, but unlike the Djinn, the origin of their conflict began elsewhere, on a long-dead planet light-years away.
Dismissing the threat of Sajia’s weapons, Addai placed his hands on her waist to prevent her from taking a step backward. It was torment and paradise at the same time to feel her beneath his palms.
He leaned forward, mouth drawing close to hers as if to share a secret, though his intent was to claim a taste of what belonged to him. “Sajia,” he whispered, touching his lips to hers, sharing breath and life and spirit, as was the Djinn way, as had been their way so many thousands of years ago.
She resisted, clamping her jaw shut and firming her mouth against his invasion. Had she remembered him, she would have known denying him was a dangerous game.
One of his hands settled on her back and forced her forward, flush against his body. The other slid upward, covering her breast possessively.
“Fight all you want,” he murmured against her mouth, the hand at her breast leaving to grasp her long braid, wrapping it around fingers and wrist, a taut leash preventing her from moving her head. “It will only make my victory sweeter and your surrender more satisfying.”
She started to pull her knives and he laughed, the hand on her back sliding lower, caressing her buttocks, holding her in place as he ground against her mound, against the clit he knew would be swollen and erect given the heady scent of feminine arousal that filled his nostrils.
A small moan signaled her yielding and he took advantage of it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in an unbridled claiming.
Desire nearly overrode restraint as she responded, twining her tongue with his, rubbing. Meeting thrust for thrust in a challenge that could only end one way, with his cock deep in her body, stretching her, filling her in shared pleasure and the release of seed.
The air around them shimmered. The will keeping him human in appearance threatened to give way in the spread of wings and radiance.
Only a small sliver of rational thought kept him from doing it. There were too many people present on the street and no way to strip the memory of what they’d seen from all of their minds, when leaving it risked that one of his kind would stumble upon the image and know of Sajia.
It was agony to end the kiss. Addai managed it only by telling himself that soon she’d be home, naked in the place he’d had built for them.
She would know the truth of what she was to him then. Wife. Mate.
His in every way.
Only his.
“You want proof,” he said, forced to pragmatism by the presence of so many witnesses. Returning to her earlier question so they could get done with this business of looking for her missing charge rather than waste time doing battle over it. “Ask me something about the Tucci, something only a human well acquainted with them would know.”
“Name the youngest, and the most recently transformed vampire of the Tucci line.”
Addai laughed. “Ah, a trick question given the majority of scions die during their transformation and a great number of those passed off as Tucci descendants are favored humans with no genetic link. To hedge my bets I’ll give you three names to prove I know the different ways your question might be answered. Demas is the most recent addition to the Tucci family, though he is not a true descendant regardless of claims to the contrary. Euan is related by blood and the youngest if measured in total years of existence, while Ilario, who survived the change five years ago, is older chronologically but the most recently transformed vampire bearing Tucci genes. Satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then let’s be on our way. What did you intend after leaving here?”
“To go to Oakland. That’s where I believe Corinne is. If I can find out who made the token hiding her from the Tuccis, it might lead me to her. The clerk suggested I visit the Wainwright witches for answers. They’re my first stop.”<
br />
“Excellent,” Addai said, pleasure purring through him at the mention of an ally powerful enough to speed this nuisance business of a missing vampire scion to its conclusion.
Sajia escaped Addai’s arms and hurried toward the car she’d taken from the Tucci estate, and Mario, the driver who was both friend and family member. With each step she told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted or delayed. But even as she hastened to put as much distance as possible between herself and Addai, traitorous heat curled through her with the remembered imprint of his body to hers and the intensity of the desire that had poured into her with his touch.
Mario stood next to the back door, waiting to open it for her. He was stiffly formal in his uniform, the lines of his face smooth in an attempt to avoid any expression, though she saw the worry in his eyes. Guessed he recognized Addai and wanted to warn her against involvement with him—not just for her sake, but for all of theirs.
If not for Addai, she would have opened the door for herself and climbed into the front seat. Mario’s sister was married to one of her cousins, and expecting a child.
Sajia got into the back, Addai sliding in next to her, crowding her, making it difficult to think about anything else but him. Any lingering doubt about his belonging to the Tuccis was banished by how quickly Mario obeyed Addai’s command, delivering them to the area set aside for the gifted then departing afterward rather than wait.
At first sight of the witches’ home Sajia nearly balked at going any farther. It sat squat and dark, windows glistening as the sunlight struck them, like malevolent eyes looking out on the world. The hair rose on her arms and neck, and she wondered if she’d feel the same nearly unbearable sensations that she had experienced when she entered the occult shop.
Her mouth went dry. The clerk’s words about the cost of dealing with the witches whispered through her mind in ominous warning.
Looking at their house, the sigil-inscribed doorway with its gargoyle-head knocker, the wrought iron fence with its etched warnings, she could well believe anything to be found here entailed a great deal of peril. Danger not just in the form of death, but to the soul.
She glanced at the man next to her. Addai. His name resonated through her in a way that made no sense, as if some part of her recognized him and was determined to have him, regardless of the turmoil, the uncertainty caused by Corinne’s disappearance.
A shiver slid through Sajia, and it had nothing to do with the prospect of entering a place where magic was practiced. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her shirt, and her channel clenched in hungry need.
She was no virgin, but she’d never had a lover like him. A man who would make the most physically attractive of the vampires appear plain, and the most powerful of them seem less than equal.
Confidence poured off Addai along with waves of heated sensuality. It seemed inconceivable that another vampire family, especially the Tassone, hadn’t claimed him first with promises of immense power and wealth and immortality.
She shied away from thinking about him risking the transition and not surviving it. He turned then, sensing her eyes on him. His smile sent her heart tripping. His gaze as it moved over her face in slow appreciation then downward to her breasts, had her struggling to breathe normally.
He laughed, a husky erotic sound that wound its way through her. Leaning in, he said, “There is nothing about you that escapes my notice. It pleases me to know you are as aroused in my presence as I am in yours.”
Sajia forced her attention back to the witches’ house, angry at herself for being distracted by him, for thinking about anything other than finding Corinne. For all she knew Addai had been sent to test both her resolve and her loyalty to her charge, to report back how diligently she carried out her responsibility, perhaps even to suggest to what extent she should suffer for her failures.
She took a step forward, determined to succeed. Closed her mind to worries about what the witches might ask in return for their aid.
Addai’s hand curled possessively around her upper arm. “No harm will come to you here,” he said, swinging open the gate and ushering her through the opening.
Stepping into the witches’ territory was like pushing through an unseen curtain of gossamer. It left the impression of clinging, invisible strands and made Sajia want to brush herself off.
At the door, Addai lifted the knocker, a brass ring held in the mouth of a gargoyle. Only a moment passed before his summons was answered by a handsome woman with a streak of silver along the part of black hair.
“Addai,” the witch said, and Sajia felt a surge of hope and relief. She wondered then if he’d been sent because The Master guessed this search would ultimately involve the Wainwright witches, and saved face by sending aid without the others knowing of it, since she had no power to negotiate on behalf of the Tuccis.
“I’m sure our appearance here is no surprise, Annalise,” Addai said, pitching his voice to hold a warning the witch couldn’t fail to hear in her mind and feel in her soul. Whatever power she held here on Earth, she was still human, and he, a being whose reach extended into the spiritlands. He’d played his part toward the return of the Djinn and the battle for control of this world that loomed, and would continue to play it, but there would be no interference, no further payment, not where Sajia was concerned.
He had no intention of allowing either witches or Djinn to draw Sajia into their web of intrigue and destiny. He was her destiny. She needed no other.
The witch showed no signs of fear. He didn’t expect it.
“This way,” Annalise said, turning and preceding them down the hallway. “You are correct. The matriarch anticipated your visit. It is fortuitous you came here sooner rather than later.”
Sajia’s curiosity brushed against Addai’s senses. And though this delay irritated him, it wasn’t without its compensations. He found himself enjoying the heated glances she cast in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking, savoring the build of heat and anticipation, the exquisite agony of being near her but not yet inside her.
The matriarch waited in the parlor, a shrunken hull of flesh and bones dressed in black. An abomination of spirit that had him fighting the urge to call his sword even knowing that delivering physical death would free neither the Djinn nor the human soul now entangled and tethered to this life in a single frail body.
He guided Sajia to a small couch across from the matriarch. Filmy, opaque eyes settled on them as they sat, sightless from cataracts, though the witch hadn’t needed them to see in a long time.
“What do you know of Sajia’s missing charge?” he asked.
The witch’s attention shifted to Sajia. “So the rumors of the missing Tucci scion are true.”
“Yes,” Sajia answered. “Corinne was last seen getting on a boat. The fisherman piloting it brought her to Oakland after first giving her a charm capable of hiding her trail from The Master. But the man had no memory of who hired him or what happened afterward.”
“And now he is dead, drained of information and blood,” the matriarch said matter-of-factly. “Beyond your reach unless you ask the shamaness Aisling to bargain in the ghostlands. Though someone capable of creating such a token, and leaving no memory of themselves, probably has allies in the spiritlands and the ability to ensure nothing useful would be learned from the fisherman.”
“Do you know who would be capable of crafting such a spell and attaching it to a token?” Sajia asked.
“Besides those of my family? Yes. Maliq. He makes his home in the red zone and is known for his willingness to work even the darkest of magic if his price is met.”
The white-moon eyes returned to Addai, craterless orbs bringing a sense of foreboding. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn Maliq created the token, but if you’re successful in finding him, I think it’s likely you’ll discover he’s the pawn of another. I’ve heard your brother has turned his attention to the vampires and amuses himself by trying to set one family agai
nst another.”
Every muscle in Addai’s body went taut at the mention of his brother. He had scores of them, some allies and some enemies. But like a bored human schoolboy left alone on the playground and desperate to draw a favored companion back, only one brother passed his time with games in the way the matriarch alluded to.
Caphriel. Angel of the final apocalypse, as he himself had once been. Sharing purpose though their ways of delivering it differed, sharing a name that regardless of translation was always the same: Death.
Addai rose to his feet in a fluid movement of suppressed violence. Resolve pounded through him with each heartbeat, beginning and ending with one word. Sajia. With one thought. Take her to the chalet and keep her there, away from games involving vampires and safe from discovery by Caphriel.
He pulled Sajia from the couch, arms locking her to him.
She struggled, pushing and squirming, but against his strength she had no chance of escape.
“Cast a circle,” he told the matriarch. “Let one of the others engage Caphriel if this Tucci scion is of any importance. Sajia’s involvement with vampires is ended.”
A word from the old witch and a circle flared into existence, a writhing ring of power that would mask the unleashing of his own.
Addai relaxed his will and all semblance of being human fell away.
White wings spread out behind him, glorious light shimmering and bent into a physical form.
He enfolded Sajia in them, a brush of feathers against cloth and skin. And with a thought, he took her home.
THREE
Shocked disbelief held Sajia motionless. Her mind argued against the reality of Addai being an angel, a creature of myth and imagination, of his taking her from the witches’ house between one heartbeat and the next. She trembled, imprisoned and unresisting in steely arms and feathered wings until his last words, and the witch’s, arrowed their way into her consciousness, slicing through all other emotion and bringing with them a terrible fear, not just at the fate awaiting her family if she abandoned her oath, but that Corinne might be in danger instead of hiding.
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