Druid Vices and a Vodka: The Guild Codex: Spellbound / Six

by Marie, Annette

  He sank onto the sofa, the cushions dipping with his weight.

  —and Ezra beside me, steady and strong. This. This was what I’d needed. Exactly this.

  My lower lip trembled. I blew on my hot chocolate to hide it. “Is Aaron still out with Shane?”

  “Yes. The Pandora Knights are chasing down rogues, and Shane is dragging Aaron all over downtown to question everyone involved.”

  “I figured you’d be with him.”

  He caught the edge of the blanket as it slid off my shoulder and readjusted it. “We didn’t know when you’d be back, or if you needed help.”

  “You stayed to wait for me,” I mumbled. He’d waited all night. He must’ve been checking out the window—how else would he have known I was standing there on the front walk like a lost puppy?

  “I got the better end of the deal,” he said with quiet amusement. “Aaron’s been texting me and he isn’t too happy with Shane’s priorities.”

  I lifted my mug to my lips, blew one more time, and took a long sip. The chocolaty heat flowed down to my stomach and warmed me from the inside out. With a shuddering breath, I leaned forward and set the mug on the coffee table.

  “Is it too hot?” Ezra asked. “I can add some milk to—Tori? What—”

  He broke off as I climbed into his lap. I curled up against his chest, arms around his neck, face pressed to his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me, and I closed my eyes with a sigh. This, too, was what I needed.

  Maybe this was something I needed every night. To be in his arms. To be safe and warm and protected.

  The thought surprised me. I’d spent half my life molding myself into the most independent person I could be—a woman who didn’t need anyone to take care of her—but somewhere along this crazy mythic road with the guys, I’d learned that it was okay to be weak and scared. Sometimes, it was okay to let someone you trusted shield you.

  I tucked my face against the side of Ezra’s neck, thinking of Zak out there in the Eastside alleys, walking among garbage and rogues, alone and grieving. Terrifying victims into giving up the information he wanted. Maybe hurting them. Maybe killing them.

  And with no one to stop him.

  * * *

  I drifted on the edge of sleep, drowsy thoughts worming into my exhausted brain as I gradually came awake. Faint light leaked through my eyelids, which meant morning had arrived. That, or some jerk had turned on a light.

  Warmth suffused me, and I was so comfortable I couldn’t imagine ever moving again. Why were mornings like heaven, but it was impossible to get comfy when you were trying to fall asleep at night? So dumb. But I was comfy now, cocooned between cushions on one side and … uhhh …

  My fingers twitched, the pads of each fingertip pressing against warm, bare skin—and my eyes flew open.

  I stared. Gulped. Commanded myself to keep it together.

  So, it turned out I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. And I wasn’t the only one. Ezra was stretched across the sofa too, and I was half on top of him, snugged between him and the back cushions. My cheek on his chest. His arms around me. I had one leg flung over his thighs and one hand …

  In my sleep, I’d slid one hand under his shirt, my palm resting on his stomach.

  I blinked a few times. His head was pillowed on the armrest, and he was breathing slow and deep, each inhalation lifting me slightly. His impossibly mouthwatering scent, his soap or cologne or whatever, clouded my head.

  Well … guess I’d just go with this.

  Resettling, I let myself appreciate the moment. Wrapped in Ezra’s arms as he slept. Warmth, strength. And good god, his body was all hard, heavy muscle. Despite my best intentions, I couldn’t stop my fingers from drifting. How many times had I daydreamed about touching him? How many times had I relived our kiss under the mistletoe?

  My fingertips met a ridge of texture very different from his smooth skin and uber-fit mage muscles.

  Ezra inhaled sleepily. “Tori … that tickles.”

  Oh shit. My cheeks heated. Feeling him up in his sleep. Nicely done, Tori.

  Since he’d already busted me as a perv, I rubbed my fingertips across the ridge, realizing what it was. A scar. One of the three scars that ran diagonally from his right hip to his center, petering out just below his sternum. I traced it downward—then tickled my fingernails over his side.

  He started, arms constricting so suddenly air whooshed out of my lungs.

  “You’re ticklish?” I wheezed.

  “I said that,” he grumbled, grabbing my hand through his shirt before I could move my fingers again.

  Grinning wickedly, I tipped my head back to bring his face into view. “I am so glad I know that now.”

  He peered at me warily. “With great power comes great responsibility, Tori.”

  “Are you suggesting I don’t abuse this new information?” My grin widened and I tried to wiggle my fingers free. “Fat chance.”

  He tightened his hold on my hand. “Let me guess. You aren’t ticklish.”

  “Not—one—little—bit,” I sang cheerily.

  His mouth twisted in a way that was dangerously close to sulky—and my heart flipped. How could a sulk be sexy? I was hopeless.

  “I don’t know if I should take your word for that,” he muttered. “Honesty would be tactically unsound.”

  “True, but luckily, I don’t need to lie.” I arched an eyebrow, my chin resting on his chest. “But if you don’t believe me, you can always find out for yourself.”

  His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Something that made my heart do that flippy thing again.

  “However,” I warned dramatically, “if you want to tickle me, you’ll have to let go of my hand. And if you do that …”

  He pressed my hand into his side, and I relaxed my arm, hoping to lull him into a false sense of security. He rolled his mismatched eyes, seeing right through that.

  Laughing, I nestled against his side more comfortably. “I’m beat. What time is it?”

  “Not sure. I’d check my phone, but it’s in my pocket and I need a free hand to get it.” His other arm was pinned under me. He wasn’t getting it free without tossing me right off the sofa.

  I smirked. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

  “Guess so.”

  Releasing my hand, he reached down. I was considering whether I could, in good conscience, tickle him after daring him to trust me, when he tilted his hips sideways to get at his back pocket. The shift of his body against mine threw all thoughts out of my head.

  He settled down again and checked his phone’s screen. “It’s just after nine. Aaron sent a message thirty minutes ago. He thinks Shane will be done soon.”

  “They’re still working?” I yawned widely. “Poor Aaron.”

  Ezra reached above his head to put his phone on the end table, his stomach tautening with the motion. My fingers reflexively pressed into his side—and his mysterious scars.

  “Ezra, what happened to you?”

  His breath caught, muscles going rigid. I’d asked without thinking, and I almost took the question back—but if I didn’t ask, would he ever tell me? His past wasn’t something I could ignore, especially since his secrets could make all the difference in his future … and whether he’d live to see it.

  Brushing my fingers across a scar, I murmured, “You’ve been a demon mage for over nine years, which means you were fourteen when … that’s really young.”

  His expression had gone poker-face blank, tension still gripping him. I gauged his reaction, then pillowed my cheek on his chest.

  “It’s okay,” I said softly, withdrawing my hand from under his shirt. “Forget I asked.”

  He pulled me closer, and I released a slow breath, burying my disappointment that he still wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me the whole story. My eyes closed, my thoughts drifting to other dilemmas and worries.

  “The scars are from another demon mage.”

  My eyes popped wide. His words
were a dry whisper, his normally silk-smooth voice hoarse.

  “I was fifteen, and I’d been a demon mage for a year. She was fourteen, and she’d had her demon for three months. Sometimes … some people aren’t …” He stopped to breathe. “The first year is the hardest. The demon tests you constantly, but it’s worse than just the mental attacks. Your own emotions …”

  I lifted my head. Ezra was staring at the ceiling, ghosts in his eyes.

  “It isn’t natural,” he whispered, “sharing your body … sharing your mind. Sometimes, I don’t know which thoughts are mine and which are his. When I’m angry or afraid, it feels like I’m drowning, like I’m disappearing. It feels like my emotions aren’t my own anymore. They reflect off him, and everything starts spiraling and I can’t stop it …”

  My hand closed around his upper arm, gripping hard.

  “You’ve seen it … the cold and dark. It happens when I start losing control of my emotions. That’s when Eterran tries to take over—or sometimes, he pushes me back from the brink to save us both.”

  His fingers tangled in the hem of my tank top. “That’s what we’re all afraid of. If the demon takes over, we can fight back—retake control. But if we lose ourselves … if our emotions overwhelm us and we disappear and all that’s left is the fear and the rage …”

  He trailed off, and all I could do was hold him as desperately as he was clutching me, as though the closer we were, the less terrifying his words would be.

  “She’d had her demon for three months,” he whispered, “and she couldn’t handle it. Either her demon or her emotions, or both. I was trying to help, but what the hell did I know back then? One night, she … she was crying, afraid they would kill her because her control was so poor. I was trying to reassure her, but her fear was getting worse and worse, that awful feedback loop, and she … went berserk.”

  “Her demon took over?” I murmured hesitantly.

  “No. The human mind isn’t the only one that gets messed up. She and her demon went mad together. Rage and fear and power and magic, all unleashed without reason or restraint.”

  “That’s what you meant when you said you would lose your mind to your demon?”

  “It’s how all demon mages go. Eterran might survive it, but I won’t.” His hand slid gently up my back and into my hair. “I knew what was happening, but I thought I could save her. Maybe I could restrain her, or knock her unconscious, or do something to snap her out of it, but when I tried, she … ripped me open. I only survived because Eterran healed my injuries. He couldn’t fix my eye properly.”

  When he said nothing else, I asked softly, “What happened to her?”

  “I couldn’t do anything. I was fighting Eterran, trying to get up because they were coming to kill her …”

  He trailed off again, and I didn’t ask for more. I could guess what had happened—I’d seen it already. Ezra had begun to lose consciousness, which allowed Eterran to take over and heal his injuries. And they, whoever “they” were, had killed the female demon mage.

  Now I knew who the girl in his hidden photo was—the blond girl with her arm around a young and unscarred Ezra, the Oregon Coast Range spread out behind them. At only fifteen years old, he’d tried to save her, and instead, he’d watched her die.

  Her fate was his. In her, he’d witnessed the madness and violence that would be the last experience of his life. Aaron and Kai had promised to end his life before that happened, and I finally understood how they could make such a terrible, merciful promise.

  I opened my mouth—but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t promise that we would save him, but determination burned through me, scorching my bones with its intensity.

  I would not fail him.

  Unable to say anything, I brushed my fingers across his cheek, trailing them down to the soft scruff that edged his jaw. Then I smiled and asked brightly, “How about some breakfast?”

  For a heartbeat, it didn’t look like he could respond, the despair dark in his gaze. He inhaled, and as he let the breath out, his soft smile returned. “Only if you’re cooking.”

  “Deal.” I sat up, and for one wonderfully torturous moment, I was straddling him, my hips pressed into his, a hand braced on his chest. But I kept moving, swinging off the sofa and straightening.

  Leaving him in mid-stretch, I locked myself in the bathroom. Aaron’s house had one of those old, weird layouts that didn’t have an upper floor bathroom, which was normally inconvenient but worked in my favor this morning. It gave me a quick escape where I could compose myself.

  I took care of business, brushed my teeth—yes, I had a toothbrush here—and gave my curls one helpless look before giving up. No fixing that mess without a lot of water and hair product.

  My hazel eyes stared at me from the mirror. Zak had promised to look into demonic artifacts. Robin was sharing her lead on rare Demonica knowledge. And I had the demon amulet. Between the three of us, we would figure it out. We had to.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Speaking of Kai, I mused as I pushed the bathroom door open, the fourth musketeer in our quartet needed saving too. Maybe not quite as urgently, but I wasn’t abandoning him in Makiko’s loving care. One night was already too long. He belonged with us, and we would get him back.

  Humming thoughtfully, I passed the empty living room and started up the stairs. Makiko and I were due to exchange some words. Or fists. A good ol’ catfight could accomplish quite a lot under the right circumstances—though the way she’d flung Aaron across the yard with a single blast of aero magic concerned me. So maybe I wouldn’t punch her, but I should probably go for my leather combat pants today, just in case.

  Still considering what wardrobe options I had stored in Ezra’s closet, I pushed his bedroom door open and walked in.

  He stood in front of his dresser, halfway into a shirt. His jeans were undone, barely clinging to his hips, the black waistband of his dark gray boxers sitting just above them.

  My brain short-circuited, all thoughts disappearing in a wave of hot longing. I jerked my gaze off his midriff and up to his face. With his shirt partway down his mouthwatering abs and one hand holding the fabric, he watched me ogling him, a hint of bashfulness in his expression.

  And that, somehow, was even hotter.

  Heat flushed through me, and I wanted so badly to take another step. One more. Then I would be close enough to touch him. To peel his shirt off and run my hands all over his beautiful body. To give his jeans the little nudge they needed to get the hell out of my way.

  Shiiiiiit.

  I gulped hard, choking back the dirty thoughts. Geez, I was awful. He’d asked me for one thing and one thing only: to be his friend. It wasn’t even a difficult request. All I had to do was not jump him. Was that so hard?

  Well, yes. But I would restrain myself anyway.

  “Sorry,” I said, embarrassingly breathless. “Should’ve knocked. I’ll come back.”

  I turned for the door, mentally congratulating myself. Yeah. Being a good friend, no matter how much I secretly wanted to—

  A warm hand closed on my wrist. Ezra tugged me backward and I swung toward him, brow scrunching with confusion, ready to ask what was wrong.

  He pulled me into him—and then his mouth was on mine.

  For an instant, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe his hands were gripping my arms, our bodies pressed together, our lips locked. Except it was definitely, absolutely happening and holy freaking shit.

  A wild gasp rushed through me. My arms were around his neck in an instant, my fingers sinking into his hair. His mouth pressed into mine, hot and urgent. I parted my lips, and the first touch of his tongue sent me reeling. I pushed into him, deepening the kiss, demanding more.

  He jerked back with a sharp breath. Wide eyes flashed across my face with horror.

  “Shit,” he said, almost as breathless as me. “I’m sorry. I just—I shouldn’t have—”

  I seized his hair as he tried to back away from me. “Don’t you
dare.”

  He blinked. “I—”

  “Don’t make me explain all the reasons you don’t need to stop.”

  “But—”

  Dragging his head down, I stretched up as far as I could, our lips tauntingly close. “Stop thinking for once, Ezra. I want you. Kiss me, damn it!”

  He stared at me. I glared at him, still trying to get his head down that last inch but unable to budge his stupid superhuman strength. His lips twitched—and he laughed, soft, husky, and so unexpected that the sound lit my core on fire.

  Then he kissed me again.

  As I kissed him back just as fiercely, his arms slid around me, his hand cupping the back of my head to pull me up to his mouth. I ran my hands down his sides and under his shirt. My palms pressed against his warm skin. Yes. Finally. I dragged my hands up his abs, his muscles tensing in delicious response to my touch. Lifting his shirt with my arms, I moaned against his mouth as I traced his hard pecs.

  A low sound in his throat answered me. He pushed into me so hard I stumbled back a step. My back bumped the wall beside the dresser—and he grabbed my thighs, heaving me up with easy strength. His warm weight pinned me against the wall, and my legs clamped around his waist, my core pressed against him. I couldn’t breathe from need.

  I tore my mouth away, desperate for air, and he ran his mouth along the side of my neck. Tangling my hands in his messy curls, I guided his head down. He boosted me up higher, his mouth sliding to the low neckline of my tank top, the thin fabric clinging to my breasts.

  My shirt was really, really in the way right now. So was his. So were all our clothes.

  “Ezra,” I began.

  He lifted his head. His mismatched eyes burned with hot, desperate need that had been building for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since the day we’d met, since that first smile, that first laugh.

  Concealing dangerous secrets and unwilling to become intimate with anyone, he’d never hinted that he was attracted to me. Certain that he’d reject any advance and distracted by Aaron, I’d never admitted my crazy lust for him either. As the months of denial carried us along, our relationship growing ever closer, the fire had slowly heated. And now the inferno was consuming me.