A roar soared past his lips as hate, anger, and regret seethed from within at the very prospect of having to obey her command. After what he’d done to her, through no fault of his own, he knew what waited would be bad. He would be punished for acting out, though it had been her spell that caused it. Worse, he would not reap the physical end of her torture. No — instead she would force him to bear witness to her destruction of someone else.
Chapter Twelve
Beth came to with a pounding headache and no real recollection of anything short of the vague memory of a crash and dragging herself out of the swamp.
What the hell had she missed, between sighing in relief on the muddy bank she’d crawled onto and now? Peering downward, she realized she lay on a cold, wooden floor clad only in her underthings and an over-sized T-shirt. Her hands and arms were bound above her head to something resembling a wrought iron towel hook. She would have screamed her anger, frustration, and pain, but damned hellfire, she’d been gagged. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She fought the panicked urge to begin gulping in air. Figured if she did while gagged, she’d hyperventilate — the last thing she needed to add to her oh, shit, list right about now.
Right then the she-devil came into view, starting from the bottom of a shimmery black silken train to wind upwards to a shapely yet slim pair of hips. Beth craned her neck to look farther, her gaze skimming past tits to the face of pure evil.
If not for the stone-cold look in the dark abyss of her eyes, Beth would have proclaimed her beautiful, exquisite even. Kind of like one of those fine porcelain dolls. Pretty, but damn well creepy as shit too.
But those eyes. You couldn’t miss the evil lurking within them.
“So, you’ve awoken. Took you long enough. I would ask how you feel, but your dreadful appearance speaks for itself, and it’s not as if you’re able to answer me, anyway.” The bitch shrugged as if Beth were an afterthought and nothing else. Her voice sounded like a cross between a purr and a hiss, with far more emphasis on the hiss.
“Damien, come to me,” she cooed in a singsong voice that seemed to get caught in the gentle swamp winds and carry on and on. The type of sound so irritating you wanted to claw your ears out.
Beth no longer had any doubts about what she should do first. Taking out the witch became her first objective, since finding the bitch was no longer an issue. That made explaining the truth of the past to Moss secondary — after she found him, of course.
“I can’t begin to understand his attraction to you. You look like a normal, boring little mortal female to me. And not even an attractive mortal. I would have thought him to have better taste than this.”
Beth narrowed her eyes and thrust her chin out in defiance. The bitch damn well wouldn’t get any begging from her, she fumed. Had she not been gagged, she would have spat back that she might not be as glamorous, but at least she was still young enough to count as warm blooded, unlike the bitch before her. Octavia might appear stunningly beautiful, but it was a false illusion no doubt thanks to some mirroring spell. If not for her magic, I bet she’d pay a fortune in cosmetic surgery. If the stories Grace told were true, the old bat ought to be mummified by now.
Moments later, the squeaking of a screen door followed by some big, heavy-sounding footsteps announced the arrival of the man the witch had called. Beth assumed it was Damien, whoever or whatever he turned out to be.
The wicked bitch of the south laughed almost flirtatiously as she sashayed into another room. Beth heard whispering, then two distinctive sets of steps heading back in her direction. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Beth’s stomach, and she again tested her bindings. Nope, no wiggle room whatsoever. Shit, still stuck like Chuck.
“I know you’re used to much prettier playthings, but I do hope you can make an exception with this one,” the hag purred, nodding toward the heavy footsteps behind her. “You should be aware it shall take about thirty more minutes for the spell to take hold.”
“I think I’ll manage fine,” a deep, husky voice answered with a not-so-humorous edge.
Then the Damien dude Octavia mentioned came into view. Bad guy or not, and though she wouldn’t have believed her reaction possible, her mouth went slack at the view of Mr. Heavy Footsteps. Maybe not as hot as Moss, but damn well nothing to sneeze at either.
He was at least six feet four inches and 250 pounds, and built to match his large frame. Monster pecs and ripped abs were visible through his half-unbuttoned shirt. Long, masculine legs bulged beneath tight faded jeans and …
Oh, shit.
Another muscle bulged too. Her gaze reached his face and she noticed he was more than aware where her gaze had landed. Heat bloomed in her cheeks.
His eyes were the coolest shade of blue she’d ever seen and popped in contrast against his black, shoulder-length hair. A firm, square jaw added to the rest of his almost obscenely handsome features. In other circumstances, and pre-Moss, she’d be drooling.
He smiled, but not in any form of hello. His eyes grew hooded, and he nodded in her direction.
“Here, or shall I take her back to my place?” Though he asked for permission, his tone commanded. He wanted her alone; of this Beth had no doubts. She also wondered what Octavia meant by a spell needing more time. As far as she could remember, she hadn’t taken or been given anything. She hoped.
“While I will relish seeing her suffer, I have no doubts Moss is on his way here. I implied you had her already so he would search elsewhere. By now he must be aware of my ruse. Take her to your secret place do anything you wish, except kill her. I want Moss to witness her torture, and I’m not quite ready for her death yet.”
Beth caught her cold stare and refused to show fear.
“As you wish, Octavia.” Damien’s gaze lazily scanned her from head to toe and back once more. It grew lustful and heated with each pass, leaving no question as to what he planned as soon as they made it to his place.
Octavia. Good, now she knew the old bitch’s real name. Beth bookmarked the information for future use.
Octavia’s attention once again returned to Beth. She sashayed over, her gown making a funny little rustling sound as it passed over the wooden planked floor. The witch knelt before her, leaning to place her face much too close for Beth’s liking, and began whispering something too low for Beth to make out. A strange, hazy sensation crept through Beth. An odd, sleepy, lethargic state forced Beth to close her eyes against her own wishes. Everything around her grew heavy, and though she remained conscious of her surroundings, her eyes remained shut, and she had no energy to fight off the obvious spell.
Awareness skittered through her of being unbound and un-gagged by Damien. Though unable to see, she sensed a distinct male scent. Much to her surprise, he rather gently hoisted her over his shoulder and headed out away from the witch’s cabin. The one time she was able to crack her eyes open, the swamp’s waters shimmered just beneath her head. She also became semi-conscious of how her breasts bounced against Damien’s back with each fierce step he took. He wasn’t unaffected by this; each time they pressed into him, his breath hitched.
If nothing else, she knew one damn thing. This whole riding tossed over one’s shoulder, sucked, and this made twice in as a little as two weeks.
A short time later, they entered what looked to be a cave, even upside down and under a weird spell. A few more steps into the mouth, and she noted all the intricate tunnels.
Oh, fucking perfect. Like she stood a shot in hell of remembering which tunnels he went down in this fuzzy ass state. But she’d have to try, if she hoped to ever find her way out. If she could escape past this rock of a man called Damien.
Damn Octavia and her stupid spell. Lucky for Beth, either she was stronger than the bitch thought, or the spell had been weakly cast. Though she wasn’t knocked out, paying attention to the small details that might help her escape was
almost impossible.
After what seemed a millennium, they entered an illuminated chamber. All around them candles flickered, and an image from Phantom of the Opera came to mind.
Damien eased her off the nice, firm, huge, muscled shoulder she’d started getting used to and laid her across his bed. Silent, he stood back and eyed her again. She shivered as he stared at her as if she were the main course at an all-you-can-eat buffet. His gaze implied he wondered where to start his feast.
“Take a picture — it lasts longer, asshat,” she spat with as much venom as her cottonmouth could muster.
“My, what a smart mouth we have. A very pretty one, though, which I’m sure we could find a better use for.” He didn’t crudely grab himself, but instead subtly lowered his hand to his crotch.
Message received, loud and clear.
Beth narrowed her eyes in an attempt to keep from staring back with the telltale signs of the heat building within her. Damien’s image before her wavered, flickering … until Moss stood before her.
Moss flat-out defined sexy. She started to wonder just what kind of spell the witch had cast. She didn’t think her reactions were normal. Undiluted love for someone one minute. The next, unmistakable lust for someone else. Wait, no. Moss was here, and the longer she stayed near him, the more irresistible he became.
Though slow-simmering, her body began to tingle in low places in acute awareness of the boiling sexual tension permeating the cave. What frightened her most was how rapidly it flared. He even smelled good. Totally edible. She worried she’d start drooling at any minute, or worse, get up and go over to try to nibble on him. On one of those rippled muscles of his. One in particular. Moss matched her hungry gaze, proving he’d become aware of her aroused state. His confidence seemed rather like he’d been expecting her change of attitude. Why would she have not wanted to make love with Moss?
Her breathing became ragged as he stalked her way, brows arched, eyes positively gleaming, and cock swelling more with each heavy step.
She knew she should be scared or repulsed. No. No she shouldn’t. This was Moss. Knew she should scream “no” at the top of her lungs and gear up for battle. She loved someone else. No. She did love someone, right? Yes, she loved Moss. Wait. Confusion took her to unthinkable places as she shook her head, trying to regain her previous thoughts.
Why did she hold back, when Moss clearly wanted her? Wasn’t she in love with him? She could almost remember someone else, but then her mind grew clouded again as she strained to remember who. Memories vanished until only the here and now remained as the room spun around in mad fashion. The temperature became hot and humid, unbearable. Mugginess in the room caused an almost claustrophobic sense to envelope her. Drops of perspiration began beading across her skin, sliding down crevices here and there, and with each drop, Moss licked his lips.
“So hot … can’t breathe.” She shook, as if she burned from the inside out, and yanked at the smothering tee before jerking it off as Moss crawled up the enormous bed toward her. His direction caused her pulse to jump as his head dipped by her knee. A hot tongue licked the insides of first one, then the other of her slightly bent knees. Goose bumps raced across her flesh. She watched as if through someone else’s eyes as his large, calloused hands firmly spread her legs farther apart.
His knees on the bed and hands on her thighs, he moved lower until his face hovered over her pussy and a finger pulled her thong to the side. He nipped the inside of her calf, and she heard a faint noise. Became aware the noise came from her. A sharp intake of breath combined with almost a purr. She purred? When the hell had she ever purred, and what the hell had she forgotten? The heat of his mouth taunted her, as did the sharp nips he gave. Did he want her to beg?
Then his tongue began lapping her as if she were an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. He showered her with oral love, and then he suddenly stopped. She glared at him even as she reached for him. He’d been in an awkward position, and in her confused and needy state of lust, she hadn’t noticed. He shifted until his shoulders rested between her thighs. He gently pushed her into a more supine position, which left her head resting on the satin pillows scattered across his bed.
Giving her no pause to prepare, his mouth returned to the exploring assault on her lower body as one hand inched higher, taking its own explorative path, taking in every curve and indent her body had. She sighed. She was his and he was hers.
All her earlier reservations vanished. And for the life of her, she didn’t even remember what they’d been. All she knew was Moss. Somehow his hands and tongue were everywhere at once, and damn, but the dude had talent.
She heard a low growl, and from the vibrations against her bare thighs, knew it came from him. Moss with that magical tongue of his. Her bra and her thong went flying, and his mouth found and suckled her clit. Instinct drove her hips upwards as the world she thought she knew came crashing down around her in one hell of an orgasmic ride.
Chapter Thirteen
“Damn you to hell. Where is she?” Moss spat as he stormed into the witch’s sanctuary, slamming the rickety door hard enough it splintered into pieces.
“Where you will not find her, my love, or rather not find her in time,” she cooed, sarcastic and cool.
“What did you do to her?” Moss seethed, barely keeping his rage in check. Even if killing her were possible, he wouldn’t risk losing the only link to Beth.
“Oh, worry not, my love. She is, at this moment, perfectly fine and rather enjoying herself, I would suspect.” She eyed him, though she was careful to keep him at arm’s length, his desire to rip her throat out clear. Her gown rustled as she continued moving farther away. Subtly, but nonetheless moving into a safer position.
He knew her idea of enjoyment and those of others usually never agreed. The slick look she sported made his stomach turn, knowing it meant something sick and twisted.
“I demand you tell me what you’ve done.” He braced his stance for an attack. Feet planted wide apart, hands curling into fists, yet resting at his side ready.
“Oh, you demand do you? Don’t forget your true circumstance here. As a result of your recent actions, I decided you needed a firm reminder of where and what your exact place is here. So I arranged for a surprise. One that will undoubtedly clear up the sudden misperceptions you may have once and for all. Let us cut to the chase, shall we? You remember Damien, don’t you?” Her cold smile chilled him to the core in fear of what may be happening to Beth. It infuriated him as well, with the knowledge he couldn’t do anything. Yet.
“We’ve met,” he admitted, remembering the only shifter he’d ever encountered. Apprehension settled deep as memories of the all-but-forgotten shifter resurfaced.
“Yes, I thought you might. I believe you met during one of Damien’s more, shall we say, sentimental moments.”
Sentimental? Was that what she called the slaying of an innocent man? Damien had no choice but to kill the poor sap, but Moss remembered the horror on his face at doing so. Moss and Damien both understood the man had thought he defended an innocent woman. No amount of explaining would change his mind over what he thought had transpired. Octavia had engineered the entire episode to teach Damien his place. She had conjured bruises to appear all over her body and told the man, who thought he was wooing and protecting the honor of a proper lady, that a foul man, namely Damien, had attempted to rape her.
The poor fool believed her every lie and attacked Damien full force. Even after Damien bested him and planned to release him, she appeared again, dropped her gown, whimpered, and showed even more faux bruises. These covering her inner thighs in the shapes of handprints. Her little feat worked all too well, enraging the man to such a state of frenzy he tried to kill Damien before Damien gained the upper hand again. This time, Damien knew he had no choice but to kill the man. There’d been no doubt the man would continue in his attacks. Nothing else c
ould be done to prevent it from happening.
Damien hadn’t wanted to kill him. He’d understood and sympathized with the man, whose only crime had been protecting a wronged woman, or so he’d believed.
“What about Damien?” Moss asked, knowing whatever she said wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Well, it seems he, too, saw your little mortal woman wandering about in my swamps. I think he became rather smitten with her as well, though I can’t understand what either of you find so attractive in anyone so simple. She seemed rather shaken, poor dear. Unfortunately for her, she crashed that little dented piece of metal she called a car. I sure hope she didn’t suffer any head trauma.”
“She is with him?” Moss asked, conflicted over the thought. Relief she was with someone like Damien who would keep her safe combated against her claim of Damien being smitten by Beth. He feared what changes Damien had undergone in these past years. Would he help her escape Octavia’s clutches, or would his desire for a female overwhelm his once-human qualities?
“Oh, how delightful and refreshing. You’re wondering about his intentions toward her? Well, let me make this clear. Unlike you, Damien has come to respect what I can do … and what I can offer. I chose to prove this again to him by offering the gift of a woman. Your human woman, who’d captured his interests. I’ve given him free rein to do with her as he so pleases. At least for now.”
Images of the dark Damien seducing his Beth came to mind, images of Beth squirming under the beast as he forced himself upon her, pinning her under him, penetrating her. Moss roared in rage and stalked toward Octavia as the predator within clawed to get out.
Octavia threw her arm up, palm out. A familiar sensation hit, of concrete pouring through his veins, weighing him down. He fought against the heavy feeling so hard blood seeped from his nostrils. Pain exploded in his brain as her mental scolding for his outburst scoured each nerve.
Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance) Page 7
