Try As I Smite

by Abigail Owen

She glanced down at his hand still on her arm. She hadn’t flinched at the burn mark down one side of his, seeming more interested than repulsed. “May I go?”

  Alasdair turned his head to meet the eyes of the real woman in his arms now and stopped the movement of his hand. “That was the moment I decided.”

  “Decided what?” she asked, bucking against him, chasing a touch he refused.

  “To get you into my bed. One way or another.” Like that day, he smiled. A real one that had her own eyes widening in response, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  “I’ll see you again, I’m sure,” the old him said. And both of them walked away, leaving the current versions alone again.

  “That’s all you wanted? A quick fuck?” she demanded.

  “What I wanted then and what I want now are…different.” Hell, how could he admit that what he’d wanted then was more than a quick fuck, but he’d only realized that today?

  This time, the understanding sent a chill of trepidation down his spine. Not enough to stop what they were doing, though.

  Delilah tossed her head. “Actually…a quick fuck is all I have to offer. Right now. Before the real world intrudes. Take it or leave it.”

  She was going to say more. He sensed it. Knew it for a certainty, somehow. But she didn’t, clamping her lips shut.

  A quick fuck was in no way, shape, or form good enough. He wasn’t stupid enough to say so, though. “I’ll take what you can give me. For now.”

  And he’d bind her body to him through sheer need. No way was one time going to be enough, for either of them. He’d figure out how to reach the rest of her when this was all over.

  They stared at each other for long, unbreakable moments. A battle of wills. Of needs.

  Then she moved against him restively. “I guess you better fuck me, then,” she said.

  Alasdair shook his head and crooked a finger inside her, absorbing the way her body shuddered with that small movement. “Ask me, Delilah. Tell me what you want.”

  The battle raging in those dark eyes might look like fury, but her quivering, hot little body told him to wait. To give her this. She needed to surrender and at the same time, give him permission. The ultimate form of control.

  Desire lit in her eyes, turning them almost liquid as her lips tipped in a challenging smile. “I want you to make me come so hard I see the edges of heaven.”

  …

  I can’t believe I said that.

  The shock still didn’t stop her from bucking against his touch, chasing the high he promised to give her.

  He’s going to hate me when he learns what I am. I shouldn’t be doing this to him.

  It likely hadn’t been obvious to Alasdair who or what had been binding her powers that day as a child, or what kind of oath she’d been speaking, but he was going to figure it out sooner or later.

  Which meant this might be her only chance with him.

  Emotions and needs twisted up in each other until Delilah hardly knew which way was up. The part of her that had been in charge—of everything—for so long…that part needed this. Needed him. Needed to let go and let someone else take the helm. Especially when he could make her feel like this.

  Shockwaves reverberated through her as the import of that hit.

  Ever since she’d been old enough to truly understand what happened that day her father made her bind her powers, she vowed to never let anyone make a decision for her ever again.

  This is different, though. Just sex.

  But even that small voice in her head knew better. Knew this wasn’t just sex, though she had no idea what it was.

  Today’s events were like a speed round of life. Experienced together, making the moments all the more real, shared and accepted. The way she’d started the day on opposite sides from this man…those lines had blurred.

  She hardly had the chance to flash through all of that before her mind blanked out as Alasdair leaned down and pulled a swollen nipple into his mouth, sucking. Hard.

  A zap shot straight from that erotic draw to the junction of her thighs where his fingers played. She whimpered and felt his smile against her skin just before he did it again. And again. Rhythmically. Until her entire body convulsed to the tune of his mouth. Then he moved to the other breast, and a rush soaked her panties with the first flick of his tongue. Her entire world narrowed to his mouth, his hair, thick and soft against her fingers, as she held him to her, and the pounding swell of sensation taking over her body.

  Suddenly he tipped his head back, gaze skating over what she knew had to be her flushed features, the way she’d dropped back against the wall, breasts thrust out to him, lips parted. An answering flush graced his skin, his pulse thudding hard at the base of his throat, muscles straining the fine linen of his shirt as his strong hands grasped her by the hips, blue eyes darkening, so intent on her. Reaching out to her. Like the first time she’d seen the ocean—powerful, incredible, and hypnotic.

  “Gods you’re beautiful,” she murmured, reaching out to trace the angles of his face ending at the small indent in his chin.

  His eyes widened slightly, followed by a smile this side of feral. Pure possession glittering at her.

  “I need to taste you.” A demand. Rough-voiced. Pulling at her almost as effectively as his mouth on her breast or the crash of those ocean waves. The sound a manifestation of his touch—rough, hard, and yet infinitely gentle.

  Where had the part of her that despised demands disappeared? Because she was already eagerly nodding, her hair tumbling forward over her breasts, dark against her skin, teasing her sensitive nipples, the contrast of the soft strands after his insistent mouth and plucking tugs of his fingers sending ripples through her.

  Rather than helping her out of her skirt for easy access, Alasdair slowed things down. He eased the material higher, already hitched up from earlier, drawing teasing patterns across her skin with his fingers, his lips. Kisses that reminded her of soft, warm rain and lazy days in the sun, even as each touch drugged her senses, even as she wanted…more. Finally—oh gods finally—he gently peeled her panties down her legs, helping her step out.

  Then, still gentle, yet somehow more urgent, he spread her legs wider, until he had her positioned exactly how he wanted her. Only to return to the torturous, teasing caresses that built her need while at the same time not fulfilling it.

  She dropped her head back against the wall, eyes closed, reveling in every sensation he was drawing from her body and not thinking about what waited for them outside this memory. What he’d do when he discovered why she couldn’t help him. Every nuance, every sense, was trained completely and utterly on him and what he was doing to her body.

  The man was a tease in the best way.

  Hovering over the throbbing heart of her, he paused.

  “Look at me,” he said, his voice practically a growl now.

  Delilah obeyed without giving it a second thought, as though compelled in a way no person, let alone a man, had ever engendered.

  He knelt at her feet, head tilted back, staring at her. Spearing her with that gaze again. Commanding. Utterly in charge, and yet, an edge to that expression told her he wasn’t entirely in control.

  She’d done that to him. And she hadn’t even started touching him back yet. Anticipation trembled through her.

  “Don’t look away,” he directed. “I want you to watch me make you come.”

  Her breathing hitched at the mere thought that sensual picture created. “I won’t look away,” she said.

  And power surged through her as his breath punched from his lungs in a whoosh. He liked that. Liked her submissive.

  Her lips curled in a smile as she thought about what she’d do to him when he was done with her. Wicked, wonderful things. Only, what she had in mind needed them to be out of this dream world, where she could use her powers.

  His
gaze zeroed in on her lips, curiosity sparking in the blue. With a wicked smile of his own, he slid a finger inside her, then out, then two, filling and yet not enough. Slowly, in and out, her hips moving in time as he watched her and she watched him.

  You wanted him from the moment he lifted that stupid eyebrow at you. But she’d been able to resist when she’d thought of him as a power-hungry asshole.

  When she was back to whimpering, he added his tongue, hot and penetrating, pressing against the bundle of nerves so perfectly hard.

  Delilah sucked in sharply, eyes fluttering closed.

  “Eyes on me,” he stopped to demand.

  As soon as she looked, he was back. Everything, every sensation he’d layered until this point coalesced as he worked her with his mouth, coming together, building inside her until that touch on her clit turned into a match striking a trail of gunpowder leading to a powder keg, and everything inside her condensed before exploding outward.

  He didn’t let up, working her through every convulsion of pleasure gripping her body until she sagged against him, sated in a way she couldn’t ever remember being. He caught her in his lap, easing them both against the wall, which didn’t feel like anything, but still propped them up.

  Why were they still here anyway?

  Blue eyes met her gaze and, suddenly serious, he cupped the back of her head, fingers slipping through her hair against her scalp, as though holding her so she couldn’t deny what he’d just made her feel. She had no plan to deny him. No thought beyond wishing the moment could last a little longer.

  “My turn to taste you,” she murmured. Where had that throaty, sexy voice come from? So unlike her, and yet so her at the same time. At least in this moment.

  Alasdair’s eyes glittered with an anticipation she could almost feel gathering in his muscles. He opened his mouth to speak but paused, an emotion skittering across his face that she wasn’t sure of. Not hesitation exactly. Almost…determination.

  Which was, of course, when her world went black.

  Chapter Six

  “Fuck,” Alasdair muttered into Delilah’s hair, pulling her closer as they waited to land.

  Damnable timing.

  “I’m really getting sick of this blinding business and not knowing where we’re going next,” he grumbled.

  Especially when he was still hard as a fucking rock.

  Grumbling was not a thing for him. Not to others at least. Not even in his head, usually. Grumbling was a sign of weakness, and a leader couldn’t show any of that.

  And yet, here he was…grumbling.

  Her chuckle tickled against his skin and expanded inside his chest like a balloon filling with helium. For the first time in his life he was tempted to tighten his arms around her, when cuddling was the last thing he did with women.

  He didn’t want a quick fuck in dreamworld. He wanted more. Only what could more possibly look like? This was Delilah. He still had no idea what powers she held. Hell, she’d refused to help him with this demon problem beyond embroiling him in this Dickensian misadventure. As the leader of the Covens Syndicate, he knew it was expected that he would find a partner from among his own kind. A partner as dedicated to his people as he.

  That word—partner—pinged around in his head like a pinball, lighting up different spots in his mind in rapid succession.

  Before he could even begin to unravel his thoughts, hampered by his pulsing dick demanding release and short-circuiting his brain, the darkness lifted. They were back in her office.

  Swinging out of his arms, Delilah quickly rearranged her clothing, though her panties hadn’t come with them and her hair had to stay down because the pins were on the floor somewhere else. Mental note, whatever wasn’t attached to them apparently didn’t move with them from place to place.

  Alasdair allowed himself a small second to admire the rumpled, sexy version of this woman. He’d done that. He’d unraveled her.

  He wanted to do it again, but he had bigger responsibilities. Bigger needs. He needed to stop letting this alternate universe distract him from that.

  He glanced around, wondering what vision was next. Another trip to her past, probably. Except…the scene was too familiar, as though they’d just left it. The papers were still scattered on the floor from when Hazah had sent him back.

  Maybe they were in the present now?

  The landscape outside the windows showed night had fallen. The Denver city lights had cast a pink glow across the sky, mountains no longer in view, Christmas lights strung up all across the tops of buildings in an array of twinkling colors, stars doing their best to compete with the ambient light.

  Night already?

  That reality jerked him out of the fantasy he’d allowed himself to stray into.

  Dammit. They’d been in Hazah’s lessons too long. His people—

  “Something’s wrong,” Delilah said, urgency in her voice.

  “Wrong?” he asked. “How?”

  “This isn’t—” She shook her head. “This doesn’t feel the same. Like it’s not part of the visions, or it’s warped somehow. Can’t you feel it?”

  Alasdair focused his senses outward, frowning. She was right. The air felt…damp, heavy here in a way it hadn’t anywhere else in the memories they’d been sent to witness.

  “You certainly took your sweet time.” An odd voice sounded from the darkness, similar to the dark rumble of a dragon shifter. By the windows, the shadows twitched. Then twitched again until the darkness seemed to writhe as a form appeared and solidified.

  A man, or something the shape of a man, stepped into the soft glow of the lamp on the corner of Delilah’s desk.

  Demon.

  Not one inhabiting a human body. It was beautiful in a way most humans couldn’t stand to be around, driven to heights of jealousy by features both bold and perfectly balanced. The ultimate physical specimen. Except for the pitch-black eyes.

  “This is not good,” Delilah whispered as she inched closer to him. A rare display of apprehension?

  “How?”

  “I think he’s actually here with us,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  The demon suddenly smiled, razor-sharp teeth on display. “Are you sure?” it asked.

  Fuck. Visions weren’t supposed to respond to them, were they? Maybe they were doing that “in body” thing again?

  Black eyes glinted in the lamplight. “I must thank Semhazah for this,” the demon murmured. Almost conversationally. “It took a little work, but trapping you without the ability to fight me was just the opportunity I’ve been looking for.”

  It looked at him as it said the last.

  Alasdair flung his arms wide, palms spread, willing his power to manifest, ready to hurl a lightning bolt at the thing. Only…nothing came.

  Not a spark or a fizz. Impotence wasn’t a feeling he’d ever had to deal with before this disaster of a day. Not even the night he’d had to kill his father.

  The demon’s smile echoed the seven hells, terrifying and fascinating at the same time.

  All the thing needed to do was touch one of them and it could seize their body…but also control their gifts, once released to the real world. Exactly why anyone with magical powers kept up wards to prevent possession. But without his magic, he was vulnerable.

  So was Delilah.

  The gut-level instinct to protect had him stepping in front of her, shielding her with his body. Almost as though that move pulled the trigger on a gun, the demon surged across the room. Powerful as fuck and coming right at him. Alasdair braced himself one second, only to have Delilah shove him hard the next. Not expecting the attack from behind, he stumbled to the side and she jumped between him and the demon.

  “No!” he shouted, reaching out. A useless gesture.

  The fear—not for himself, but for her—that slammed through
him came with a labyrinth of rage and shock that this thing dared to threaten her. That he could do nothing to stop it. Nothing to protect her in this moment. That he might have to kill her, too, if it took hold of her.

  The demon clamped a hand around her arm and Alasdair expected screaming, or sizzling, or for the thing to turn into black smoke and enter her body through her nostrils. Or something. He’d never witnessed a possession as it happened. Not even his father’s.

  But, like with his powers a second ago, nothing happened.

  The demon frowned, adjusted its grip, confusion rippling across its features. “What are you?” it hissed at Delilah.

  “I—”

  Its eyes grew wider, and somehow, impossibly blacker. “I know you. You’re the woman who killed my windigo.”

  “Let go of her, Belial,” a female voice sounded from behind it.

  Hazah was here? She knew this demon?

  Her colorful caftan flowed out behind her as though wind whipped around her despite being indoors. She stared down the creature still latched onto Delilah, who stood eerily still, never removing her gaze from the thing. Hazah, meanwhile, seemed to morph before his eyes. No longer the siren of a woman he’d met earlier today. This was a warrior—fierce, deadly, and pissed. Anger crackled in the air around her.

  Heels and all, Delilah took the demon by surprise with a cartwheeling maneuver that both broke the demon’s grip on her and hurtled her to the other side of the room near where Alasdair stood.

  The demon sneered but kept its focus on Hazah. “You have nothing to do with this, Semhazah. You already have a body, and I have orders.”

  Orders? Body?

  Hazah’s eyes shifted subtly, turning inky black, just like the demon. Just like Agnes’s demon eyes in his office.

  A demon?

  “No fucking way.” The words burst from him.

  Delilah, when he’d asked for help with a demon problem, had sent him to a demon. A fucking demon. One who’d locked them in this powerless state.

  “You will have to go through me,” Hazah said with a bloodthirsty smile that sent a chill down his spine.