Cantrips: Volume #1: Minor Magics Crafted to Amuse and Entertain

by Joey W. Hill

  When he visited Council, he took Enrique, the laidback and hot-blooded French-Spaniard who was well suited to the vagaries of Council leisure pursuits. Though he and Amara were married, they’d been part of this life for decades. Amara missed him when he was gone, but she wasn’t constantly pricked by visions of him in the midst of some creatively designed orgy for vampire entertainment. No, instead, she eagerly waited for him to come back to her and tell her about it with dramatic flair, more erotic tales to spur the intensity of their reunion lovemaking. Not that it needed spurring. Jessica wryly thought their private room should be designed to be flame retardant.

  She slid down against the door, her back braced on that heavy wood, placing her sneakered feet where she expected Mason’s booted feet had often stood, right before he stepped over the threshold. He’d been alone for a long time, no servant, but even during that time he’d occasionally entertained guests. Probably watched or even participated in the things that happened here. Just like he was probably doing at Council dinners.

  Though Amara took such things in stride, Jess couldn’t. It was ridiculous. She knew Mason’s heart. It wasn’t that she doubted him, or thought she’d lose the way he felt for her. He hadn’t wanted to serve on Council. Hell, the man had been a recluse for over three hundred years and had even scoffed at the idea of a governing body to “civilize vampires.” But now he was right in the thick of it.

  She knew that watching her, being with her, was what gave him the deepest physical and emotional pleasure. She knew that not because of any false sense of importance, but because she could feel it. He had his own demons, his own nightmares, and having her close helped him. Sometimes almost as much as it helped her. He insisted he didn’t need her at those Council meetings with him, but she knew it would be far easier for him if she was.

  In contrast, he was there for her, always. Even now, if her nightmares took an unexpected spike, or she fell into depression, Amara would call him, despite Jessica’s protests. He’d be on the next plane back, the Council be damned.

  So get up and open the freaking door. Closing her eyes, she beat her head in a slow tattoo against the wood, but stilled as she heard feet on the stairs. It was Amara. The woman always knew where to find her when Mason was gone. Either in his office, with the horses, on the beach, or sometimes, on the bad days, curled up in his bed, pathetically inhaling his scent. Jess spoke to the sound of those tapping slippers coming her way.

  “If he doesn’t come home soon, I’m going to put on his most expensive, most favorite shirt, and wear it to muck out the stalls. Then I’ll put it back in his closet with all his other clothes and let the odor of horse manure hit him smack in the face when he opens it.”

  Amara chuckled, the musical resonance of her voice soothing or stimulating, depending on how she used it. She came into view, wearing one of her translucent gypsy skirts, a deep purple color with tiny bells at the low waistline, and a snug dancer’s top, telling Jessica she’d been practicing her intricate belly dancing moves. “And who do you think he’d make do all that laundry?” the woman asked with a gleam in her dark eyes. “Probably the old fashioned way, too, on a washboard over a steaming hot tub. Naked.”

  She sat down next to Jessica, her lovely backside sliding gracefully to the floor so the point of her hip pressed with affectionate intimacy against hers. “You made it to the door.”

  They hadn’t asked her much about this battle of hers or stated their opinion of it one way or another. However, Amara and Enrique had almost psychic intuition. It was an attribute she’d come to appreciate, because it saved having to explain things. For the first time, though, Amara let that simple statement convey an encouragement that warmed Jessica. She understood what Jess was trying to do and, what’s more, approved of it.

  “I don’t want him off without me, doing this kind of thing,” Jess said. “It makes me crazy, imagining him watching other Council servants do whatever outrageous things the Council wants them to do, and him sitting there, all alone and removed from it. Or just as bad, I see two or three of them crawling across the floor to his legs, sliding their hands up his thighs, maybe one of them plopping her obscenely perfect ass in his lap...” She blew out a breath at Amara’s amused look. “And it’s not jealousy, not exactly. I just...”

  “He’s yours. Your Master to serve, not another servant’s duty.”

  Jessica nodded, relieved to hear it voiced so accurately. “But you’re his servant, and you don’t get all that worked up about it.”

  “Because it’s not the same for me and Enrique. Mason takes his pleasure with us, yes, uses us for blood, but our bond is affection, regard, service. It is far different with you. He is consumed by you, and you by him.” Amara nudged her. “I would say love, but of course that’s the most heinous of four-letter words to vampire kind. It’s all right for him to whisper it to you in the night’s darkness, but not to speak it aloud.” She gave Jess a searching look, sobering. “Would you really want to be there, to see all of that going on?”

  “At least I’d have the opportunity to be at the forefront of it. And I know him. He’d be watching them, sending me thoughts in that sexy mind-whisper of his. ‘This is what I want to do to you later.’ Or, if I’m in the thick of it”—she swallowed, refusing to let the cold fear take over at the thought, and instead focused on her imaginings—“he’d be saying ‘pretend it’s me, touching you like this, holding you.’ Anything is better than being home where I’m going insane over it, over him being gone.”

  Despite Amara’s teasing, Mason never concealed his feelings for her here. He’d told Jess he loved her, often and well, in various, immutable ways. She was just as bad about that. However, since she was a “lowly human,” it was acceptable for her to be besotted. Sometimes it made her laugh at herself. She was like a lovesick teenager, wearing one of his shirts when he was gone. It made her think again of what she’d threatened to do with one of those garments, and Amara’s idea about his punishment. She could see it, her muscles straining as she ran the shirt over the washboard, her breasts glistening with creamy rivulets of soap and perspiration. He’d come up behind her to slide his hands over those slick curves, pressing his body against hers. Whisper that she would continue scrubbing as he unfastened his snug riding breeches and plunged into her, working her body as she lost her rhythm, grasped the board for dear life and gasped her pleasure.

  They were getting to the point she could actually believe he would mete out such a sensual punishment. And she would welcome it, enough to dare such a defiant act.

  That was the key to turning that doorknob. How would it be any different, in this room behind her? It wouldn’t. If he restrained her to a St. Andrew’s cross in this room, or bent her over a spanking bench, it would be him doing it, the fascinating, powerful male vampire who loved her and protected her even from his own kind. Who she trusted not to be Raithe, to prove to her that all vampire gatherings were not like what she’d endured with him. She could do this, she was ready for it.

  In her ruminations and Amara’s words, she realized what bothered her the most of all. The real matter was trust. In order for him to believe he could take her with him, he had to believe she trusted him. That she could handle anything they threw at them, because she loved him and loved serving him. That anything that gave him pleasure would give her pleasure, and anything that didn’t give him pleasure, she knew he wouldn’t permit. In order to fully be her Master, he had to know she fully trusted him.

  She took a deep breath, quietly amazed with what seemed so obvious now. It was a gift only she could give him, the male who seemed to have everything. But registering Amara’s expectant look, she struggled to focus. “You came down to tell me something.”

  “Yes. Enrique will be home within the hour.”

  Jessica knew her face lit up like a Christmas tree, because Amara’s reflected it. The woman was as excited as she was about the return of their men. “And Mason?” She seized Amara’s hands, squeezed them so the bone
s creaked. The woman laughed, returning the favor. “Mason is on a slightly later flight, because he had to do some last minute shopping. Probably gifts for you, as well as some small token for me.” Her gaze gleamed. “Which, given our different tastes, means a silver belt with cut gems for one of my dance costumes, and a set of rusty horseshoes from a junk store for you.”

  “Hey, not my fault that I’m the cheaper date.”

  Amara snorted, a delicate sound for her. It reminded Jess of Hasna, Mason’s dainty white Arabian mare. “Well, if you’re planning to invoke his wrath with your manure-scented shirt scheme, you only have a few hours to execute it. He’ll be within range of your mind by full dark.”

  The thrill of that, of knowing he’d be home that soon, made Jess burn with impatience, a sensation that affected every part of her. Her skin heated at the idea of his hands on it, everywhere. Not just because of how he kept her stirred with his calls, but because the moment Mason came into the house, he always made it very clear that he’d missed her.

  The first time, he’d cleared the kitchen with barely a look, the staff scrambling to make themselves absent as Mason lifted her without preamble and took her down on her back on the butcher block table. He’d possessed her with an animal hunger that could arouse her just in remembrance. Almost a rebranding of her soul, a reminder of what those three marks meant. Bound together, for all eternity.

  Despite the blazing fire such imaginings brought her, she managed a smile for Amara. But then an idea struck her. She had to convince him that she could handle the type of punishments that existed behind this door, right? That not only did she trust him to take off the gloves, but that she wanted him to do so.

  He kept a leash on his dominant male vampire nature around her, but she’d been feeling the strain on that tether, more and more. She wanted to snap it. However, as she imagined what provocation might accomplish that, it was far more than a manure-scented shirt. He was stubbornly protective of her, but more than that, he was possessive. And that, too, was a key to what she wanted. A key that might galvanize that vampire nature to full, terrifying dominance over her, no turning back. It gave her a shiver, one that she was absolutely, thrillingly convinced was not all fear.

  “Amara, what’s the one thing Mason expressly forbids me to do while he’s gone? Other than endanger myself in any way, which in his mind includes even using butter knives?”

  The woman laughed, but studied Jess as if she could tell she was up to some kind of mischief. Her eyes sparkled. “There are several things. You cannot make yourself climax. You and I cannot play with one another and instigate a climax, nor can Enrique, when he is here with us. It makes all of us quite eager to see him arrive, the scoundrel. And most importantly, he is quite adamant that no man touches you at all while he’s gone. Not if that man wants to live.”

  “Hmm.” Jessica shifted onto her knees to face the other woman. She continued to hold Amara’s hands as she looked up at that door, the wood worn down by the placement of Mason’s strong hand. Cocking her head, Jess considered her fellow third marked servant.

  “Do you and Enrique feel like living dangerously?”

  Part Two

  One hour. One hour until Mason’s mind would be in range of hers, if Amara’s estimate was right. Jessica had had a despicable urge to wait until then, so she could use his presence in her head to give her additional courage to start this, let alone finish it, but she knew that was what she had to prove to him. That if she was at a Council meeting, and Lord Belizar said he wanted to see a threesome involving two males and one female servant, and she was the chosen female, she wouldn’t disgrace Mason by bolting like a spotted fawn. That she could handle herself and he could rely on her to serve him as a Council-level servant should.

  Still, she jumped, badly, when Amara touched her arm. Jess was at the top of the steps again, only this time she’d been waiting for them. Amara slid an arm around her waist. She was in one of her thin sheer robes, the peacock print of rich colors only accenting the glimpses of tempting curves. Her only other adornment was a collar of silver links that Jessica knew was a gift from Enrique.

  “There’s no reason to be afraid,” Amara reminded her gently.

  “Yes. That’s my job,” Enrique added. Jessica turned to him, trying to let his wry smile dissipate her trepidation. Despite him just returning from what was likely a grueling trip, he looked his normal self—sexy as sin, his features a devastating cross of the most appealing traits of his French and Spanish parentage. His closely cropped dark hair had a few loose unruly strands over his forehead, which only made the green eyes with their black eyebrows that much more direct and appealing. There was always a casual slouch to his leanly muscled body that suggested a lazy panther. He wore black slacks and a crisp dress shirt, simple, clean lines that sent a subtle message of power and authority, underscoring the role he would play tonight.

  His mouth had that slight, sensual curve that implied all the sinful things he could do with it. And, if his wife was nearby, he often did. Though Jessica knew he was quite devoted to Amara, before she’d taken his heart, he’d accumulated a great deal of skill in bringing pleasure to women, a mutually beneficial education.

  She could appreciate all those things about Enrique, even though tonight they sent a ripple of nervousness through her. She pushed it away, but she was already getting that cold ball in her stomach. An ominous sign, but she was determined to ignore it.

  Not too long ago, before Enrique had left to join Mason on this trip, the three of them had watched The Mummy Returns. With Jess’s mind on Mason’s return, it wasn’t surprising her mind now returned to one absorbing feature of the film. The Pharaoh’s woman had been covered with intricate ink markings that would smear upon touch, so it would be clear if another had touched what was Pharaoh’s. Over the past few months, Mason had branded Jess over and over again with mouth, lips, hands. He’d sunk deep inside of her, taken her in ways so gentle her heart almost broke. Or so rough and demanding she was sobbing with pleasure and exhaustion by the end, too drained to move.

  Every inch of her was totally, completely his, such that she had zero desire for that design to be disrupted by the touch of another man, ever again.

  But she was servant to a Council vampire, and those servants had learned that they could and would be touched by many others, merely as an extension of their Master or Mistress’s desires for them. She had intimate knowledge of the dark side of such a world, violations of mind, body and soul that ignored any boundaries that compassion or simply viewing her as a living being might have imposed. But when Lady Lyssa and Lady Daniela had visited with Jacob and Dev, she’d had a brief glimpse how it could be. Pleasurable caresses and laughter, demands that aroused desire, instead of destroying or subjugating it.

  So while she was nervous with Enrique’s presence, she was okay. She told herself that, took a few deep breaths and only stiffened a bit when he slid his arms around her waist from behind. He had strong, gentle hands. Warm, and they took their time, slowly molding the shape of her waist, thumbs sliding over her abdomen. He kept his palms still, so his fingers wouldn’t exceed the reach of that location, but the sensation tingled uneasily above and below his knowledgeable caress. Moving in front of her, Amara gathered Jessica’s hair up in both hands, then transferred it to one to bring it forward over her left shoulder.

  “I love your hair long,” the woman murmured. She combed it over the curve of Jess’s breast as Enrique bent his head and dropped a light kiss, just a brush of lips, at the now bare juncture of shoulder and neck. A place that Mason liked to mark with his fangs regularly. It was something that Enrique had noticed, and now used, helping her recall her Master’s touch and desires. How she could please him.

  She had come such a long way, to be having such thoughts naturally. There was a time even thinking in such a way would have terrified her, horrified her. But with Mason she’d learned things could be different. That was the thought she needed to carry forward.


  “I think we shall leave this up here.” Amara tugged the sash of Jessica’s robe loose. Hers was a pale blue satin, not nearly as see-through as Amara’s, but one that Mason liked because of how the satin clung to Jess’s curves, showing the tips of her breasts in profile when she turned toward him. The woman kept her gaze on Jess’s face, gauging her reaction as she opened the garment. Underneath, Jess wore nothing at all, making her shiver from the draft coming up the stairs. Enrique slid it off her shoulders, and Amara produced something from the pocket of her robe that was unexpected. And startling.

  She’d discussed what she wanted. Jess wanted to go to that dungeon room, and submit to them as a trusting slave would, so from this step forward, she was supposed to be theirs. She’d resisted the idea of choreographing every move, knowing that trying to control every step would defeat the purpose. Though now she wondered if she’d lost her mind. What was in Amara’s hand was a slim silver collar and dainty tether.

  “You will trust yourself to us, remember?” the olive-skinned woman said, her long-lashed, dark eyes on Jess’s. “And see, this can be broken, so easily. It is practically a child’s trinket. Vampires do not use safe words, Jessica, but with us, you merely need to say stop, and we will honor you still. All right?”

  Jessica nodded, not sure she could speak.

  Enrique put his hands back at her waist, making contact with bare flesh. With his next words, the quiet, firm tone, she was reminded that, as Amara’s husband, he often served as her Master, though they both submitted to Mason.

  “Ask Amara to collar you.” His fingers played along her flesh, his knuckles stroking the curve of hip. His thumb teased her navel, the piercing that she’d recently gotten there. Amara had talked her into it, and Mason approved. It would hold against a third mark healing, as long as it wasn’t removed. It had an amber center stone amid tiny diamond petals. Mason had bought it for her, an appropriate complement to the tattoo on her back, a tiger peering through bamboo, stalking his prey.