Spellfinder

by Carmen Caine

  “For tonight,” I added in smoky tones. I left that open for interpretation and sent him a smoldering look of my own.

  His magnetic gaze slid over me with an excruciating slowness that was pure delight to enjoy. His body produced a ton of heat, a crackling power. For a fleeting moment, I wished I could smell his mana but sanity quickly reasserted itself. One hint of that delicious scent and I’d probably drain his heart chakra dry. I missed it, that aroma. But without such distractions, I could delve into other pleasures. Like kissing him. Long and slow. Thoroughly. Lustfully. I pursed my lips, toying with the idea.

  A slow devilish smile curved his mouth in response. “Of course I’d come for you, my dear,” he whispered in the softest, sexiest of rumbles. “I always will.”

  My breath caught. I lowered my lashes expectantly.

  His next words were like a bucket of cold water straight in my face. Over my entire body, actually. “We’re under contract, you and I. I need your spellfinding skills,” he followed up quickly, his tone growing harsh. “And it’s high time you held up your end of the bargain. Let’s avoid the Charmed courts, shall we? I assure you, it’s not something you wish to experience. There’s no way you’d ever win a breach of contract case against a Rowle.”

  Annoyance surged through me. He just couldn’t help being a jerk. It was probably genetic. “How adorable that you think you can threaten me,” I retorted in a tone peppered with anger.

  A devious gleam took life in his eye. He still hadn’t moved away. His body was scorching hot and, in spite of his oh-so-Lucian-attitude, he was still very distracting. He lowered his head to breathe hotly on my skin. “You look a little insulted, my dear. Were you expecting … something else? Are you, perhaps … disappointed?”

  Cripes, but even rankled, I couldn’t resist him. He played me like a violin. But then, it was easy enough to turn it into a duet. With a bold, seductive smile of my own, I pressed into him and panted in tiny breathless gusts, “Disappointed? Is that a word you hear women say a lot, Lord Rowle?”

  He gave a delighted deep rumble of a laugh, pushing back against me before shifting enough to grab my hand and flatten my palm over his chest. “Sorry, there's no heart in here, sweet thing,” he chuckled. “Just a black, empty hole.”

  The next moment he demonstrated exactly the opposite, unleashing his lips to devour mine. It was everything I wanted. Every subconscious cell of me had been screaming for it. A kiss of pure torture. A wild, passionate exchange of desire that sent my nerves into overdrive.

  And it was all that. Raw. Powerful.

  Maybe, a little too powerful.

  Every inch of me came alive. I don’t know how long we kissed. I simply let myself go and fully enjoyed the ride. I guess some would call it a kiss of abandonment. Whatever it was, locking lips with Lucian felt right on all levels. I didn’t think. I just was. Experiencing every blissful second as it arrived.

  Somewhere in it all, our passion deepened. My hands slid up his back and out over his muscled shoulders. In turn, his fingers explored my curves. I bit his lip. He responded by nipping mine. That set off another frenzy of passion. After a time, I gave into the impulse of licking his jawline. He drew a sharp breath but returned the pleasure, sucking his way down my neck as a series of small, strangled gasps escaped my lips.

  But it was Lucian.

  And as usual with him, things veered off course at precisely the worst time and always in the wrong direction.

  Things were hot. Molten hot. After what could have been minutes or hours, he lifted me onto the countertop for easier access, his lips traveling down my collarbone in a fiery trail of sensation. I grabbed his head, threading my fingers through his hair. That was a turn on for him because he groaned, a ragged sound.

  And it was that uninhibited sound that simultaneously startled us both back to reality.

  We jumped apart, panting heavily.

  I smelled it then.

  The faintest thread of a scent, but the unmistakable aroma that I’d detected from the Templars. Again, I fought the urge to run. All thoughts of passion flew out the window. Was Culpepper nearby?

  Leaping off the countertop, I opened my mouth to warn Lucian when I caught the source. Lucian’s cellphone, an arm’s length away. I snatched it up. There was no denying it. The scent came from the lit display. Faint, but distinct, an echo of what I’d encountered in the Templars, but real enough to cause some harm—I just didn’t know how or what kind.

  “It’s spelled,” I gasped.

  Lucian snatched the phone from my grasp. “Well, that certainly explains all of this,” he muttered harshly.

  The implication shocked my temper into life. Whipping my chin up, I dared, “That explains all of what?”

  His nostrils flared a little. He was too smart to step further into that one. With words, anyway. He didn’t stop his gaze from flickering to my lips.

  “Right,” I spat fiercely. “So, it’s a spell that made you moan like that, huh?”

  All at once, he was cold. Distant. Disagreeable. “Determine the caster of the spell so it can be removed, spellfinder. A curse would explain the headaches.” His lips thinned as he added in a biting tone, “Along with the bad judgment.”

  That was it. Grabbing his phone, I slammed it face down onto the countertop with such force that the display shattered. Instantly, all trace of the aroma disappeared.

  “Voila!” I smiled. “Spell removed.”

  A muscle ticked on Lucian’s jaw. “I’ll be taking that out of your salary,” he threatened with icy contempt.

  There was only one response to that: I rolled my eyes.

  We stared at each other angrily, still breathing hard.

  I broke the silence first. Waving at the luxury around me, I hissed, “You’re such a Scrooge.” And then tossing my head, I stalked past him fully intent on leaving, but at the last second, he caught me by the elbow and whirled me into his arms.

  Inexplicably, my pulse quickened.

  “Did you even catch a clue of the caster before you destroyed the ability to do so?” he asked in a deadly soft voice, half-breathing into my hair.

  I suppressed a shiver but forced my thoughts to focus. “Yeah, they are evil and out to get you,” I gritted through my teeth. “The spell’s gone now. You can thank me later, once you’ve regained your ability to be objective.”

  I felt his muscles stiffen. Touché. I guess he didn’t appreciate insinuations that he lacked control. I filed that away for future use.

  Evidently, he was compiling his own catalog of artillery to use against me. Sliding his hand up my spine, he smiled maliciously when I couldn’t suppress the shiver. Crud. He wasn’t above using his touch to get what he wanted.

  “Evil.” The word vibrated through his muscular chest. “Someone evil is out to get me, you say? Well, let’s see … that narrows it a bit. That would be … at the very least …” he paused, as if pretending to count before hardening his voice with sarcasm to say, “About half of the entire Charmed population. That’s only millions of possibilities for you to track. You’d better get busy, little spellfinder.”

  A few minutes ago—OK, maybe seconds—I’d wanted to rip off all his clothes. But looking up at his smug expression, the only thing I wanted to do now was slap the smirk right off his obnoxious face. Still, I could win this one. Leaning into him to throw him off guard, I smiled with extra sugary sweetness. “There are black and white witches, right?” I asked coyly, rubbing my hip against him for good measure. “What kind are you?”

  The slight curve of his lip betrayed the fact that he enjoyed my response, and he was game enough to answer, albeit in a mocking tone, “Need you ask? I'm of the blackest kind.”

  I reached behind him to snag his damaged phone from where I’d smashed it—illicitly enjoying the feel of his hard muscles along the way. Taking a step back, I slapped the broken phone against his chest.

  “Then it’s case closed,” I shot back. “Your attacker is evil. You’re both on t
he same side. You’re probably friends. What’s to track? I’m out of here.”

  With a final flip of my head, I pivoted on my heel and headed for the door.

  What is Revenge, Really?

  Before I’d gone three feet, Lucian blocked my way. Irritation and annoyance rampaged in his blue eyes. Evidently, Lord Lucian Rowle wasn’t used to being crossed.

  “You don’t understand what a mess you’re in, sweet thing,” he charged with a grim twist of his sensual lips.

  Seizing my hand, he pulled me through the kitchen, past the black leather couch and up to the windows before maneuvering to stand close behind me. I watched his handsome reflection in the glass, staring over my shoulder into the inky darkness dotted with New York City’s twinkling lights.

  After a moment, he spoke in an undertone, eyes still focused over my head. “I’ve watched you from the moment we met, Cassidy. I’ve observed your every reaction. Your approach. This business of revenge. You act ruthless, but you aren’t. You have a soft streak. Simply put, you’re wasting your time.”

  I had no idea where he was headed with this, but I felt vaguely offended.

  He followed up with, “You’ve had no real training. You’re not driven. Not really. You’re good. But not good enough. You’re going to fail. The only path you’re on is one of self-destruction.”

  Drop the vague. I was downright insulted. “I don’t have to listen to this,” I retorted sharply, wheeling around to shove him aside.

  Well, that settled it once and for all. I’d suspected he was stronger than me. Now I had undeniable proof. He didn’t budge an inch. And he didn’t let me escape. His strong arm snaked out to pull me hard against his chest.

  His silver-blue eyes searched my face as he dropped his voice into a soft question of, “What drives you so? What burns your soul?”

  What was he searching for? He knew I sought revenge. With a defiant lift of my chin, I indulged him and repeated, “Revenge. I want revenge.”

  A slow smile played about his lips, as if inviting me to convince him. “So you keep telling me,” he murmured. “Make me believe it.”

  There was something in his voice that made me pause. A thread of genuine concern? Caring?

  Catching my chin in his hand, he forced my eyes to look into his silvery pale ones. “Give up this futile attempt at revenge and come work for me instead, Cassidy,” he urged, almost with an outright tenderness. “Your talent as a spellfinder is unmatched. You could make history. Concentrate on that. The rest is only playacting and doomed to fail.”

  My temper roared back to life. One compliment in a sea of insults? And playacting? “Playacting?” I spat, outraged. “I’ll have my revenge on Emilio. He ruined my mother’s life. And mine. I’m not the kind to simply forget.”

  Lucian’s lip crooked with haughty amusement. “It’s time for a cold dose of reality, sweetheart. He’s a vampire and an ancient one. He’s faster and more experienced than you in every way. Talented or not, you don’t stand a chance.”

  If that wasn’t a challenge, I didn’t know what was. I jutted my jaw forward in stubborn determination.

  He read the look and drew his lips into a thin line of displeasure before trying a different tactic. “Alright then, for the sake of argument let’s say that by some stroke of good fortune—or an absolute miracle—you succeed in plunging one of your blades deep into his heart. Tell me, what did you accomplish?”

  I knew where he was headed. “Justice,” I replied shortly and cut him off with a, “And yes, it’s good enough.”

  “Is it?” Cocking a scornful brow, he sauntered around me in a slow, appraising circle. “Is it enough for all of those years of suffering that he inflicted upon you? A quick knife to the heart? I’ve been in this business of revenge for far, far longer than you, my dear. And I can promise you, it won’t be enough. There are many, many, and I say many things worse than death, and if your heart were truly caught in revenge, you’d want him to experience each and every one of them—slowly.”

  Granted, he had a point. But I was still happy enough with my plan. “We’re different,” I said, shrugging his argument aside.

  A distant look suffused his handsome face. Once again, he fixed his piercing gaze over my head and out the window. Staring into the distance, he whispered as if caught in some dream—or perhaps, nightmare, “True revenge is obliterating everything they’ve ever wanted. It’s inflicting suffering. It’s the business of uncovering secrets. It’s sacrifice. Patience. Every waking minute, you wallow in your suffering. You relive how it came to be. You become consumed by a force that enables you to betray even those closest to your heart. It devours your soul. To accomplish your goal, you’ll work with anyone and do anything that takes you further down the path you want to go.”

  By the time he’d finished, his voice had taken on a disturbing harshness that I found chilling to hear, revealing just how dark and dangerous he really was underneath it all. It was alarming. And more than a bit frightening. He spoke from experience—that much was clear. And I had no doubt that when he unleashed the power of his fury, his revenge upon the Terzi … well, they, or anyone who stood in the way, wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Seeming to understand just how much he’d unwittingly exposed, he turned away to rub his temples. “You don’t know what revenge is. You’re in over your head, and in the Charmed world, it takes more than raw talent to survive. Now, you have the Terzi, Templars, and who knows what else on your trail. It’s time to quit playing. You’re an amateur, Cass, and it will get you killed.”

  Was he trying to make me furious? Peeved, I waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchen and his smashed phone. “They all seem after you, too,” I responded pointedly. “And for all your strength and power, it took this inexperienced and raw-talented newbie …” I paused to slide a hand over my hip, before continuing, “to break whatever spell they put on your phone, didn’t it? You think you might be underestimating me a little?”

  He wasn’t buying it. “Let it go, Cassidy,” he gently stressed my name, my full name, as if in some sort of concession. “Let Emilio go. He’s not one you should mess with. You don’t know him or what he’s capable of.”

  “Then I’ll learn,” I vowed, but my words sounded strangely flat.

  A stilted silence descended between us, one in which each of us became lost in our own thoughts.

  Lucian was such a puzzle. Arrogant and condescending. Dismissive. Beautiful. A man of focus. An accomplished warlock who knew the Charmed world like the back of his hand. While I didn’t know his motives for having engaged in this particular conversation, I couldn’t deny that he knew Emilio far better than I.

  Did he have a point?

  Yes, I hadn't had an apple-pie life. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I wanted Emilio to pay. And yes, I’d put in a fair share of effort to learn how to throw a knife.

  But was that a true lust for revenge? A wave of doubt washed over me.

  Hex it all, what if Lucian was right?

  As if sensing my indecision, he broke the silence to drive his point home. “Emilio will pay, I promise you,” he swore with a frank sincerity. “You’re too hot-blooded to do this alone, my dear. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Come work for me instead. Permanently. Take your rightful place in the Charmed world, seize your destiny as a spellfinder unmatched in power and talent.”

  I held still. He was overwhelmingly persuasive, and I was genuinely tempted to listen. He always dredged up a rollercoaster of emotions inside me. Why was that? Maybe I should work for him, hang around, and find out.

  Our gazes locked. The energy around us crackled, threatening to reignite attraction as Lucian’s strong arm snaked about my waist.

  His head bent closer. His lips were millimeters away when the apartment door crashed back with a bang.

  “Let’s hope we’re not springing another Terzi trap,” Heath barked, charging into the apartment in ferocious werewolf form with Tabitha close upon his heels.

  Green, P
ink, and Blue-Haired Trolls

  Taking one look at me locked in Lucian’s embrace, Heath immediately reversed course and chimed, “Leaving!”

  “That’s not necessary,” Lucian cut in, his arrogance returning with a vengeance. “It’s not what it seems.”

  I agreed with a whole-hearted, “Ditto.”

  Lucian sent me a dark look that smacked of the hypocritical, but I couldn’t point fingers.

  Rising to assume human form, Heath faced us with a sobering expression. “Well, we’ve a bit of news, man. I tried texting you a few times, but you were radio silent, dude, and ...” He pointed to Lucian’s phone on the countertop but upon seeing that it’d been smashed, just ended with an, “Oh.”

  Tabitha stepped forward then, and one look at her face revealed that something was wrong. Drastically. Usually never one to portray emotion, she was displaying a wealth of it now. Her swollen eyes were rimmed a bright red that matched her nostrils. She’d been crying. A lot. I could only stare as she clicked her way across the floor in her pink heels.

  Lucian froze in alarm.

  It took her several attempts before she managed to say, “He’s gone. I’ve failed you. I’ve failed the House of Rowle.”

  I blinked. It sounded serious. One look at Lucian’s face confirmed it as even worse.

  “He?” Lucian repeated with a lethal softness. In the most pleasant—and deadliest—of voices, he prompted, “The Templar? Culpepper? He escaped?”

  Tabitha just stood there. Detached. Cold. Silent.

  Sympathy just wasn’t part of Lucian’s makeup. “Is someone else gone? A pet? A friend? Relative? Foe? Lover?” he grilled her, shooting the questions off in rapid succession and growing angrier with each one until finally ending with, “Why would I care?”

  They locked gazes.

  In spite of the onslaught of questions, it was obvious from Lucian’s pale face that he already knew what was so dreadfully wrong.

  At last, Tabitha moved, pulling something out of her coat pocket. It was a keychain, one of the cheap, ugly ones with two little hideous plastic troll dolls dangling from it by their neon pink and green hair.