An American Witch in Paris

by Michele Hauf

  Then, with a forceful stab of the alicorn’s point, she punctured Ethan’s chest.

  Chapter 11

  Something ice-cold pierced his chest. Ethan gasped, winced. Slapped a hand to his chest, but the witch pushed it away immediately. She’d...staked him?

  “Just go with it,” she said calmly. “It’s only in a quarter of an inch. I need blood, remember?”

  She...needed blood? Fuck. Just...what the fuck?

  As he felt blood drool from the puncture, Tuesday quickly used the tip of the alicorn to draw with his blood, tracing the sigil over his chest. She’d freaking staked him with a unicorn’s horn!

  Closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to the floor, Ethan then smirked and snorted. What the hell kind of whacked adventure had he tumbled into? He’d let a witch stake him and...he’d survived. He was still here. Not ash. And she was speaking her witchy voodoo words and humming above him.

  When she’d asked for him to give blood, memories of the time he’d killed another with a blood transfusion had almost stopped him from doing this. That had been a different time. A completely different century. Medicine had advanced greatly. And...he hadn’t wanted to give her details. To expose his broken heart to her. So he’d dropped his nervous worries and succumbed to Tuesday’s wishes.

  The witch didn’t need to see into that soft and weak part of him. Because apparently she was more into stabbing a man than sympathizing with him. Bloody hell.

  Opening his left eye, Ethan spied Tuesday as she kissed the blood-tipped alicorn. Then, kneeling and still straddling him, she bowed to blow across the wet blood. Her magic stirred up a violet fog and with her hands she coaxed it into a malleable cloud over his body, stretching it to encompass him from head to toe. And with a single clap of her palms, the fog dropped over his body and permeated his skin with a sizzle that made him hiss.

  Tuesday stood, looking over her work. “That was it. You’re such a big boy,” she cooed as if he was a child. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  He would not reply to her mocking tone. Even if he sensed she was teasing him. But it was difficult not to admire the view from where he lay. The woman wore but a T-shirt that was long enough to cover everything, but short enough to make him want to lift his head and take a closer look.

  She just staked you, idiot. Right. Ethan pushed up to his elbows and looked over his bloody chest.

  Fool that he was, he’d had the thought while in the Archives earlier that he’d like to see what she was capable of when wielding the alicorn. And now he knew.

  Twirling the bloodied alicorn, the witch waggled an eyebrow. “Remember when you shoved me against the wall in the alleyway before the dark witch bonded us? You said that was the only blood I’d ever get from you.” She shrugged. “Guess you were wrong, eh?”

  “I’m doing this to help the mission. Unlike you, who seem to merely want to gloat about taking advantage of a man’s kindness. You fucking staked me, witch!”

  “And now you can tell everyone you’ve survived being staked. You don’t have to mention it was with a unicorn horn and resulted in you looking like a glitter-bombed clubber.”

  Her giggle was enough to make Ethan mentally snap a rubber band at his wrist. But he wouldn’t get angry at her. He was doing this to help the mission. And if he had gained some sort of magic out of the deal? So be it.

  “Now you should have a sixth sense about the demon’s location,” she said. “You just have to learn to tap in to it. Focus inwardly, keeping the demon’s name fore and your intent to find him as the guide. Shouldn’t be too difficult for a vampire who has used persuasion on humans. Yeah?”

  He had mastered enthralling humans centuries ago. He’d been born innately knowing how to control others with but a tweak to their thoughts, a subtle whisper after the bite, or even a gentle caress that would send a shiver of compliance through their system along with memory loss or even altered thoughts.

  “Sounds good to me.” Ethan touched the blood on his chest. It sparkled with violet. Was that a condition of using the alicorn? Interesting, and yet a bit too nightclub-glitter for him.

  “You can get up. But it’ll take a bit for it all to soak in, to really get a fix in you. What would be helpful is...” Tapping a finger to her bottom lip, she stepped out of the circle and gripped the obsidian crystal that hung about her neck from the leather cord.

  “Is...?” He stood behind her, and brushed some of the violet dust off his jeans.

  “Is what?” she asked.

  “You were about to say something would be helpful?” He dismissed the query. “Whatever. Can I wash this off?”

  “No, leave it on. The marker, anyway. It’ll disappear when the spell has set. But you can wash off the blood that dribbled down the side of your ribs. You got a broom?”

  “Stuart, vacuum the living area,” he said and wandered into the bathroom.

  * * *

  Tuesday stood aside and watched as the Roomba vacuum cleaner appeared from out of a closet and scurried over to sweep up the salt and random drops of Ethan’s blood. Skipping to avoid being attacked by the tenacious thing, she sat on the chair to stay out of the way.

  A glance to the bathroom door made her smile. She had freaked the fuck out of the vampire by stabbing him with the alicorn. He might have thought she’d been staking him. Ha!

  She shouldn’t gloat over that sneaky triumph, but—Yes, she would. She’d caught him unawares, and yet, he hadn’t overreacted or tried to push her away. He’d complied and had allowed her to finish the spell. He earned points for that. Not many vamps would do the same, she felt sure. Especially the ones with a bossy, controlling complex.

  Yet, he had been not so eager to order her around since she’d returned from her near escape from the country. More points to the vampire for that restraint. Was it a new tactic to get her to ultimately work with him? Probably. Yet he’d given her a clue that there was more between them than mere spellcraft and demon chasing.

  He wanted her.

  And she was the witch to let the vampire have what he wanted.

  When he returned to the room with a blood-free chest, but a few sparkles still in his hair and on his back, he wandered over to the vanity by the wall and poured himself a snifter of brandy. The city lights gleamed against a gray sky, highlighting his physique with a golden glow. He wore nothing but jeans, which he must have unbuttoned to clean off the blood—and he’d forgotten to rebutton them—and tufts of dark hair were visible.

  Comfortable? Check.

  Sexy? Mercy, could a witch get a break?

  “You want some?” he asked as the vacuum rolled off to its closet and shut down.

  Hell yes, she wanted some. “Uh...” Turning on the leather chair and pulling up her legs, Tuesday asked, “Oh, you mean brandy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh. That stuff makes me gag.”

  “Then you haven’t tried the good stuff.” He held up the goblet and strode over to the window, which was parallel to the bed. An outside light flashed crimson in the glass, winking at them. “A man can drink worlds in brandy. I’ve tasted Greece and Armenia, Turkey and Chile. Stravecchio is one of my favorites. It’s distilled in copper pots.”

  “I may have once dated a winemaker,” Tuesday said.

  “A vintner?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he called himself. Maybe date is too technical a term. More like fucked once or twice. Or a dozen times.”

  It was either that, or she’d dated a dozen different vintners and fucked them once or twice. Details. He didn’t need to know everything about her life.

  Ethan leaned back against the brick wall, where the window frame began; the massive pane was but inches from his left shoulder. The moonlight mixed with city lights gave his face a stark quality that Tuesday admired. While vampires as old as he could often look as young as teenagers or tw
entysomethings, Ethan had a certain seasoning to him that appealed to her centuries-gained sensibilities. He was not young and the years had imprinted on his face. In the line that cut down between his eyebrows when he flashed her the serious look, and in the silver hairs that dashed through his brown hair and beard stubble. A wise toughness deepened his gray irises to a cunning yet knowing stare.

  He would be called classically handsome by those who cast Hollywood movies, and probably pigeonholed into the widowed or divorced single-father-with-an-edge role. The man was solid. Physically aware. And comfortable in his skin, muscles and bones that wrapped and formed him into a startlingly exquisite physique.

  Washboard abs? Check.

  “So, you fucked a lot of men over the centuries?” he asked, as he stared off through the window.

  Now he was getting to the interesting conversation. Of course, she had mentioned the vintner.

  “A dozen or hundreds. I don’t record notches. You?”

  “Fuck men?” He shrugged. “Not as often as you, I’m sure.”

  That nugget of info swirled a deep, hot thrill right between her legs. She could entirely see the man swinging for either women or men. That was sexy to her. A man who was not afraid of his sexuality and who lived his life the way he chose.

  “I know the world is vast and coincidence rare,” she said, “but if I ever learn we’ve fucked the same man that would so rock my world.”

  He chuckled and sipped the brandy. “I never kiss and tell.”

  And now she really wanted to delve into his love life. The fantasy of him bedding another man put a tight pull at the base of her throat and heated her breasts. And...oh, yes. She shifted on the chair, squeezing her thighs together to catch the flutter of want in her pussy.

  “Sex becomes different the longer you live, yes?” he asked.

  She nodded. Because it had. In ways no mere mortal could ever imagine.

  “It’s not so much about the romance and roses,” he continued. His gaze was fixed on some point out the window. His rugged profile teased Tuesday’s sense of control. “Nothing like what you see in the movies or read in those romance novels.”

  “Have you ever read a romance novel?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t knock them. I even like the ones about the vampires and werewolves, despite the authors getting their paranormal attributes wildly wrong most of the time. But you’re right. As the years, decades and centuries glide by, sex becomes less about the physical. And yet, at the same time, the meaning of it becomes more.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a tilt of the brandy snifter toward her. “It’s less about an emotional bond and more about...” He gave it some consideration. “It’s about finding yourself in someone else, yet not getting lost there. Knowing that you both are a part of something much bigger. And also, surrendering to the moment, and being able to focus completely on that other person and yourself. Love has nothing to do with sex. It’s too messy, and too much thinking is involved.”

  “I agree. Though—” Now that she’d decided she might welcome love into her life, Tuesday wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain anymore what, exactly, sex did mean to her. Though she did know one thing. “It’s definitely a soul thing.”

  “Yes. It’s...well, it’s worlds.” He tipped the glass to his lips for a swallow. “So are we going to avoid the obvious?”

  “Which is?”

  “That we need to discuss what is going on with us moving forward.”

  “Honestly? I wish we would avoid it. For now. I’m tired.” She pushed her hands through her hair and let the heavy tresses drop over her shoulders. She was aware it was a sensual move, and took all the leisure in drawing her hair back over a shoulder for him to watch. “I just want to sit here and watch you drink your brandy.”

  He shrugged, then took another sip. That the conversation had turned to sex only spurred her on. She had been thinking the man needed to have sex to make the spell sink in, and had almost said as much earlier, but had wisely stopped herself. And she was very willing to volunteer to assist in the said process of spell-sinking-in.

  “Worlds, eh?” she asked.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Worlds in the brandy and in sex.” She leaned forward, a hand to her knee. Lowering her lashes, she looked up through them. “I bet you’ve seen worlds unending.”

  “That I have.” He turned to face her. The sleek line of his body stretching his long torso, down his hips and the length of his legs to bare feet screamed out “sex” to Tuesday. “Do something for me?”

  She shrugged. “Anything. As long as it’s interesting.”

  He crossed the arm he held the drink in over his chest and eyed her for a moment. That gaze could strip a woman bare. And Tuesday felt it move over her skin as a warm breath that tickled and tightened her nipples. It traced along her side and shivered down the length of each of her legs. And there at her core, it teased her to open herself, to want what she’d been cursed to never have.

  Finally, Ethan said, “Show me your world.”

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday lifted an eyebrow. Show him her world?

  Now that request was interesting enough to make her want to comply. She had been waiting for this moment. It was time the two of them, indeed, peeked into one another’s worlds. Or even went for a running dive.

  Yeah, she favored a good splash that would land her all in.

  She settled back against the cushy leather seat that she imagined Ethan must have lived in, sat in, perhaps even fucked in for decades. It was so comfortable. And she felt at ease sitting before his soft gaze.

  Drawing up her knees, she let them drop apart and to the sides, exposing herself to him. The T-shirt inched above her trimmed patch of pubic hairs, teasing him with the view.

  His attention was easy and yet focused. As he tilted a hip forward, she noticed his erection bulged beneath the dark jeans. He’d been hard for much longer than the few seconds she’d taken to get comfy. It was a good thing for him her limp-dick spell had not succeeded that first day when he’d held her captive in the cage. Good for her, too.

  Tapping a finger against her lips, she eyed him teasingly, yet the promise was true. She licked a fingertip and kissed it. Gliding her fingers down between her legs, she watched Ethan as she slid that wetted fingertip along her heated folds. Slowly, deeply, she traced up a slick wetness and skated across her clit, which now hummed with a greedy need for attention. A delicious, erotic thrill shivered in her core and loosened her shoulder muscles.

  This was her world, as Ethan had put it. A woman who knew how to gratify herself. She knew what made her squirm, what strokes could make her hum with pleasure, what pressure, speed and the length of time to gauge each touch. And knowing that about herself made her strong and wise. It was a knowledge she had tried to teach those women she had healed over the centuries. The body was theirs to understand. Treat it well, and they would be well. And that included self-care. Which meant jilling off.

  Because really, what woman could ever teach a man what she did not first know herself from experience and practice?

  Ethan watched without a lusty gape or a smirk. It was his calm, gleaming gaze that made the tease more exciting for her. Everything about him called to her on a sensual song. The relaxed curl of his fingers cupping the brandy snifter. The liquid flame scent of the golden brown liquor. And the tilt of his head that caught the moonlight in the silver strands near his temples. Mmm...

  Tuesday moaned appreciatively. The man was something to admire. She didn’t need to see fangs to get off on his sexy. Her finger stroked faster and firmer, focusing where she was most sensitive. Wet, swollen and tingling, her body stepped forward to sing its alluring wisdom.

  She could do this quickly or draw it out, and prolonging it won the vote.

  Ethan tilted his head, turning to study her with m
ore intensity. His upper teeth eased over his lower lip in a tense but wanting slip. The man’s abs, still marked with the tracking grid, flexed. And a wince signaled her he was feeling the intensity of the moment in the tightening of his erection. It strained against his jeans. And his fingers curled about the brandy glass more possessively.

  Her motions quickened. Tuesday closed her eyes briefly, falling into the sensations, the tightening in her core, the promising jitter of release that seemed to reside at every place within her body at once. And yet...she slowed, easing up on the pressure so that the high began to simmer. Too fast. Never too slow.

  “Is this a world you want to learn more about?” she said in breathy gasps. “Ethan?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  “I’m so close.” She moaned sweetly. But she wouldn’t get herself off. Yet. Not until he joined in on the fun. “Take your cock out. Let me see your world, vampire.”

  He unzipped and his cock, granted release, sprang up against his tight belly. Still holding the glass, the fingers of his other hand curled about his sizeable hard-on and squeezed, then stroked.

  “Turn and face the window,” Tuesday directed. “I want to see you from that angle.”

  He did so, setting the glass up on a jut of wood that was part of the design along the brick wall to his side. He placed the heel of his palm up high on the window, and with his other hand he stroked up and down, slowly, measured, and tightened then loosened his grip. He knew exactly what worked for him. He also knew his body, and so she paid attention to his motions, the pace and the intensity.

  “I can’t watch you when I’m facing this way,” he said.

  “You’ve seen me. It’s my turn to watch. Your cock has an inward curve. That’s sexy.”

  He glanced aside at her, smiling briefly, but then his jaw tightened and Tuesday knew he had hit a sweet spot with his pumping motions. She sucked in her lower lip, biting it lightly. Her own motions synched with his, moving faster, more firmly.

  “Come over here,” he said. “I need your wet pussy to slick my strokes.”