by Jory Strong
“It bled last night, okay. More than the first time. I freaked. I thought of you. And the rest is history.”
Nothing flashed in her eyes. Resentment didn’t straighten lips that, fuck, just looking at them revived the mood because if they weren’t made to wrap around a guy’s dick and blow the top of his head off with pleasure, then he needed to turn his boys club card in.
They tilted up at the corners, like she knew what he was thinking, and he nearly rose onto his own elbow so he could trace her lips with his tongue as a precursor to encouraging them to travel downward for a second time.
She interrupted the fantasy by saying, “It’s all over the news that a police department clerk was found murdered. What department?”
“Evidence. Mostly putting it in storage and retrieving it when it needs to be revisited.”
“So he’d have access to Lucifer’s Blade?”
Dylan’s stomach went tight and cold. His heartbeat sprinted and kept racing full out. Because fuck it, he was a detective and he could put one and one together, Nicole Harper’s getting shanked in prison the morning after Katcher had been killed. And if he went where he didn’t want to go, and added the cut opening up, bleeding…
“Yeah. Katcher had access.”
He sat, turning his back to her—on truth. “I need to get to work.”
“Dylan.”
He stilled rather than pull away. The warmth of her hand on his shoulder and the fear in her soft voice melted the ice in his gut with a burst of heat.
“I believe there was a sacrifice last night, probably a human one.”
And Christ, his bed had looked like a crime scene, though there was no way he was going to admit it. A chill swept over him at flashing back to the nightmare, the sensation of his heart thundering in his head and then slowly fading, draining away through his wrists until he’d finally broken free in panic.
When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Do you still have the charm?”
A nod was all he gave her.
“I’d like to do a working, to strengthen it.”
He wanted to deny her. Hell, he wanted to deny he’d clutched the fucking thing until he’d stepped through her doorway.
“Sure.”
Her hand fell away as he stood, retrieving his clothes and fishing the charm out of his pocket then giving it to her.
She padded away, catapulting him into the past, to another redheaded witch who’d worked so-called magic naked, sucking college kids in with her game, Heather included.
The only magic there was predictable—flash your pussy and tits in front of a red-blooded guy and he was going to get a boner. Offer him a chance to fuck and yeah, he might just forget he had a girlfriend.
Just as well. He was as certain of it now as he’d been then.
He wasn’t the marrying, faithful kind. He was too much like his old man.
Uneasiness crawled in. It was exacerbated by the feel of being watched. He tugged on his clothes as he glanced at where Seraphine had disappeared with the charm. A calico cat sat in the doorway, perfectly still, its gaze fixed on him as if judging his worthiness to be in Seraphine’s bed.
He glanced back to where they’d made—
Had sex. S-E-X. She couldn’t expect more from him, could she?
Dumb question.
He resisted the urge to look at the ring Aislinn had given him. Not that he needed to when the image of Seraphine’s bracelet presented itself front and center in his head.
He had to get out of there. Felt desperate to by the time she returned, the cat no longer in sight.
She’d put the charm on a necklace, the same as Aislinn had done to the one Seraphine had given Trace, a charm he still wore. Dylan took it from her rather than let her put it on him, avoiding the intimacy.
The need to escape ratcheted up at seeing the flash of hurt in her eyes. It tightened the ball in his gut until spikes of guilt pierced his chest so he had to fight against pulling her against him and apologizing. He should have stayed away from her.
Impossible. The quiet in his head was like following a beacon and reaching the safe harbor of home.
“Thanks,” he managed, leaning in, giving her a quick kiss. Fighting the urge to do more, to linger, to lose himself again in her body, to promise he’d call and be back.
Seraphine closed the door rather than watch Dylan all the way to his car. “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” she whispered, recognizing that a chasm had opened in the time it’d taken her to work more magic into the charm. He’d already been halfway out the door, at least mentally.
At least he’d come to her. That meant progress, right?
The ache in her heart was matched by her fear for him, leaving hope no more than a glimmer.
She rubbed her arms in an attempt to chase away chill bumps. The charm might not be enough to keep him safe. It wouldn’t be if he came in direct contact with a demon, especially a bound one.
Unlike the talisman she wore on a necklace, the one she’d given him didn’t offer Arioc’s protection either through fear of retribution or the possibility of an immediate summoning. The price of gaining that safety for Dylan would be steep.
And for information about the blade?
For answers about the link Dylan now had to the dark realms, and how to break it?
What price for that information?
How urgently did she need it?
She glanced at the sunlight filtering in through the front windows and decided against calling Arioc. She had time to investigate on her own. With luck she’d find Tristan in his office at the university, but if not she could track him down and ask him for access to the ancient books in his possession.
She turned away from the door and went to the bedroom, careful not to look at the bed, though proximity to it made her body hum with satisfaction even as the sharp edge of renewed need rode beneath the surface.
Shower. Then work.
She handled the first quickly, and hurried to the second.
* * * * *
A measure of relief loosened the tightness in her chest when she reached Tristan’s door and saw him at his desk. “Ah, my appointment is here,” he said to the female student sitting across from him and dressed to get male attention.
Seraphine suppressed a laugh. Fey glamour, even muted, was hard for humans to resist, and Tristan, with his long blond hair and aristocratic features, could inspire sexual fantasies all on his own.
The coed left with a sway of hips and a skirt that stopped just short of flashing her ass cheeks. Seraphine closed the door before claiming a chair.
“Wish you’d stopped by earlier,” Tristan said.
The laugh she’s held back escaped with a quick glance down at the wedding band he wore, an off-limits signpost that had no effect. Marriage to Storm hadn’t dampened interest in him, but at least it made things easier when the supernatural world collided with the human one.
“I believe Lucifer’s Blade is now in possession of someone using it to summon high demon lords.” She didn’t say attempting to use because if not successful, there would be no surviving the ceremony.
“The death of the clerk,” Tristan said. “Storm and her partner are working the case, better for all of us. I should have considered the possibility this had something to do with the blade, especially given the news about Nicole Harper’s murder in prison. Any thoughts on who might be responsible?”
“No.”
Tristan steepled his hands, touching his fingertips to his mouth. “The clerk’s death wasn’t a sacrificial one.”
“No. But I believe one occurred last night.”
“Why?”
The question created a divide of loyalties. But given her desire to help Dylan, it left her with no choice. “Dylan was cut by Lucifer’s Bade. I don’t know the details. The cut healed but opened the night Robert Katcher died. It bled again last night. Profusely.”
Enough to strip away Dylan’s denial and his restraint, so he came to her, though
away from her house and the heated memories of skin touched to skin, the warmth generated by the encounter had evaporated, leaving chilled reality.
“One kill to charge the blade,” Tristan mused. “A body of convenience. A second kill, a sacrificial one to summon a high demon lord and bind it for some purpose. Power most likely, that’s the usual human motive.”
“Yes.” In her mind there was no question the lord had been bound in some way. A demon set free to create havoc wouldn’t go unnoticed for long by the supernaturals claiming this realm as home, and they would hunt it down, where a bound demon couldn’t be touched unless its master’s acts threatened to expose the existence of other beings. Unfortunately, sacrificial murder wasn’t just cause according to the covenants those beings held to, because mankind’s past was littered with cultures and sects who killed in tribute to, or to appease, their gods.
“I need more information about Lucifer’s Blade,” she said. “I need a deeper understanding of how Dylan’s being cut by it will affect him. I need to find out what can be done to keep him safe or minimize the harm. How to sever the link to the dark realms, if such a thing is possible. Is there anything in your collection I could study?”
Long blond hair shimmered when he shook his head. “No. I exhausted my library when it was determined that the blade went missing from the VanDenbergh collection. I was concerned Storm might encounter it investigating that homicide. But if you’re willing to accrue a debt to a dragon prince…”
She didn’t hesitate. “I am.”
“Then I’ll contact Malik. He’s got an extensive library. A word from Aislinn and he’d let you have access to it, but there’s no need for her to call in a favor, not when what he’ll ask of you is something I believe you’d be willing to offer anyway. For centuries he’s been searching for a way to break the curse tying dragon fertility to the Chalice of Enos. You’ve heard it’s back in dragon possession?”
“Yes. And you’re right, I would help the dragons if asked, though right now I don’t know enough to counter the curse.”
“I’ll get word to you after I’ve spoken to Malik. I’ll avoid mention of Dylan if I can, but I’ll need to tell him you’re searching for information about the blade specifically, and that you have reason to believe it’s now being used.”
“Will he consider it a treasure worth collecting?”
“Doubtful, but…” Tristan shrugged. “He is a dragon.”
“I have to risk it.” The blade in the hands of a dragon prince didn’t terrify her nearly as much as the thought of a human wielding it.
She left Tristan’s office, silently amused at the small herd of female students waiting in the hallway.
In her own office, a stack of essays waited for her. She paused at the window, sunlight warming her skin as she thought of Dylan, fingers toying with the bracelet on her wrist.
Would he call her? Come to her house again? Or keep running from the truth?
She turned from the window and went to her desk, reaching for the first paper to grade. Her phone interrupted as she started the fifth of them. Her sister’s ringtone inspired instant fear.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
Electra’s fast breathing sped the pounding beat of Seraphine’s heart.
“Chesna left school. Is she with you?”
Not accusation, but hope. “No. I’m at work. I’ll leave now and see if she’s at my house.”
“I’ve already been there.”
“What happened at school? Why did she run away?”
“I don’t know. Her teachers and principal don’t know.”
“I’ll help look for her. There’s a witch I know with a gift for scrying—”
“I shouldn’t have called.” And Electra was gone.
Chapter Eight
Tristan smiled as he reached the front door. The house greeted him, not words but with a sense of welcome—and completeness, hardening his cock with the knowledge his wife and cousin were still at home. Together. And if he was very lucky, he’d be able to join them in bed.
He let himself in without announcing his presence. Kicked off his shoes inside the entranceway and unbuttoned his shirt as he walked so it hung free by the time he reached the bedroom. The restraints were out, a single pair tethered to the center of the headboard though currently they were empty.
Because Storm lay sprawled on top of Pierce, he said, “I take it you’ve managed to thoroughly subdue him. Not a bad morning’s work.”
Storm slid off the man who could—and often did—pass for him. She sat as he walked toward them, Pierce lazily tracing the length of her spine.
“This is a surprise,” she said when he reached the bed.
She grasped his hair when he leaned forward, pulled him down for a kiss, the merest of her touches all it took to command both him and Pierce into readiness.
“A pleasant one for all of us,” he murmured, already craving the ultimate completion that came with being inside her at the same time Pierce was.
They’d been apart for no more than a couple of hours, but the press of her mouth to his, her tongue to his, was incendiary.
His hands went instantly to luscious breasts, fingers claiming nipples hardened for him as she made quick work of freeing his cock. Her capture of it sent a tidal wave of lust upward, forcing a moan from his mouth to hers.
Her purr of satisfaction vibrated through the bond he shared with her. On a pant he stepped away from the kiss so he could shed his clothing. She stretched out, her body touched to Pierce’s, her hand claiming his cousin’s cock.
He joined them on the bed, lust burning through him even hotter when she recaptured his cock. “As usual, your timing is perfect,” she said, thumb brushing over the sensitive head, coating it in escaped arousal. “Brady should be heading to the station about now and I’ll have to get there soon myself.”
He took her wrist, his cock crying out from the loss of her hand when he carried it above her head and held it there, though the act threatened to derail him when it caused her to arch her back, returning his attention to her breasts.
The fey loved beauty of all types, but before Storm, breasts had never enthralled him the way hers now did. He could spend hours admiring them, worshipping them with hands and mouth, sucking as she moaned and thrashed.
He could bring her to release with nothing more than his mouth on her nipple. She tasted of perfection.
Hunger washed through him. He’d allow himself a quick suck.
He leaned down—
Caught himself. “Talk first. Then we can play.”
Pierce growled his displeasure and he didn’t blame his cousin. But he’d prefer to have this out of the way so the two of them could linger, fully enjoying their wife’s body.
“Seraphine came to see me this morning. There’s reason to believe Lucifer’s Blade is no longer in police custody.”
Pierce’s hiss of frustration was a fiery burn in his mind, a crackle of exasperation and worry.
Storm released Pierce’s cock, and aggravation sizzled down the bond he shared with his cousin. Tristan freed her captured hand, understanding her satisfaction as she said, “And now we have motive for the murder.”
“Apparently so.”
It surprised Storm that she didn’t feel more surprised by Tristan’s news. But it fit. It made sense. It connected to Nicole Harper being shanked in prison like pieces of a puzzle coming together to suddenly provide an excellent idea of what the entire picture would ultimately look like. “The captain is going to hate this.”
Tristan brushed his mouth against hers. “Keep it out of the media as long as you can. In fact, it would be better for all concerned if you don’t mention the possibility of its loss at all.”
Immediate resistance filled her. “Why?”
His smile utterly confused her. As did his answer. “In the interest of romance.”
“You’re going to chase her from our bed with your riddles,” Pierce said, rising onto an elbow and creat
ing a small ball of fire, using the flaming orb to circle her nipple and fill her breast with a sensual heat that quickly slid downward, through her belly and into her cunt.
A soft exhale and Tristan sent the elements at his beckoning across the areola Pierce tormented. A cool breeze, the hint of moisture to counteract the flame and harden the nipple until it ached with the need to be captured between strong masculine lips, sucked with hard pulls as wickedly talented fingers played between her thighs.
She retaliated by grasping their cocks, stroking down thick, pulsing shafts and reminding her men of the ecstasy that came with being inside her at the same time, the exquisite struggle and pleasure of working themselves into a space made tighter because they shared her.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” she teased, capable of making them come on their abdomens, though it would be a waste given her need to leave soon—and besides, she’d already enjoyed that particular game with Pierce.
“Surrender the information, Tristan,” Pierce said, his hand leaving her breast, taking his fire to her pussy and making her moan with the capture of her clit.
“Storm is not the only detective who knows Lucifer’s Blade has most likely been taken. Dylan cut himself on it.”
Pierce’s fire banked. Literally.
Even if it hadn’t, the small orb wouldn’t have been enough to combat the chill that swept through Storm as another piece of the picture fell in place.
She released the hot cocks and sat. “It was used to kill Katcher.”
Tristan and Pierce sat as well, crowding close and providing the comfort of skin-to-skin contact.
“Undoubtedly,” Tristan said. “The wound on Dylan’s hand opened the night of your clerk’s murder. It opened again last night and bled so copiously it sent him to Seraphine.”
The chill rolled in on itself, becoming an icy knot. “A sacrifice?”
“In all likelihood, yes.”
Pierce pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Any chance we could whisk you away on the honeymoon we’ve yet to take?”
