“Now, settle yourself this instant. Do not make me hurt you anymore — but the decision is yours.”
He stilled, dropping to one knee and shaking from the brutal mental attack. He knew becoming physically impaired wouldn’t help free Beth from the witch’s, or from Damien’s clutches. He’d need to keep his temper in check, play his cards right in order to regain his freedom and rescue Beth from whatever fate Damien planned.
“Don’t fret. She won’t suffer extensively, as I do not intend to let her live for very long. I refuse to allow some simpleton who hasn’t yet learned to mind their own damn business to run amok causing havoc in my swamps, now can I?”
“You will not touch a hair on her head.” He wanted to strike. Take out the threat Octavia represented, but he refrained at the last moment.
“Please don’t force me to hurt you again,” she hissed ominously before holding her hand in front of his face and making a fist. The minute her hand clasped together, pain rocketed from his mind to his stomach, bringing him back to the floor.
“I have no intention of touching the filthy little bitch,” she went on. “I’ll even promise not to lift a finger to her.” Her sudden, vicious laugh told Moss her promise meant nothing. “You see, I placed a unique spell upon her. At this very moment, or soon thereafter, she will believe she is with you. She will see Damien’s image as yours. For good measure, I added a touch of lust to the mirroring spell. Oh, my. Can’t you just visualize them now? All the delightful things Damien must be doing to her as we speak. All the things she herself is pleading for. I’d imagine she’s begging for sexual relief about now. Oh, to be a bug on their wall right now.” She laughed loudly, taunting him with graphic verbal images of his Beth with another male. Thoughts of the pleasures Damien would find with her pushed him over the edge, and before he could stop himself, he launched into Octavia.
“You fool,” she hissed, sidestepping his attack by becoming more shadow than substance. “How dare you think to attack me? Have you forgotten, my dearest? To kill me, in fact, kills you too?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Oh — Moss — yes.” Beth moaned. “You came back.” She sounded so happy and relieved.
Damien bent his head in shame after Beth called him by another’s name. Part of him — the small human part he’d managed to keep hidden from Octavia — wondered how he could take her and still live with himself. She only wanted him because she thought him to be Moss. The other shifter, whom it appeared she loved. Damien longed for the warmth and compassion of an innocent mortal woman. Even reminding himself she called for Moss didn’t stem his desire for her.
Her body responded to his touch. Her legs spread, eager, as her hands reached between them to stroke him. Enticing him into entry as soft mewls escaped past lush lips. Gently he rocked forward between her legs until the heat and dampness of her core touched the broad head of his cock. He shuddered from his own need.
“Moss, Please don’t stop. I need you … now. Need release,” she begged in panting whispers.
Torn as his own needs and desires gripped him by the balls, he almost lost the fight. The extreme spell Octavia had cast wracked her body with frantic bouts of lust. It also caused a frighteningly high fever as Damien hovered over her in indecision. She would get worse unless he gave her release. He’d seen this spell in action before. Understood the gravity behind the physical and mental madness it unleashed. His engorged cock bobbed at her entrance; her eyes glowed with the ferocity of her need. She again arched upwards, her breasts skimming ever so close to his mouth.
He realized neither of them had a safe way out. He’d been set up, again, to be Octavia’s hand of justice, and the dawning of this knowledge was painful. He didn’t want to hurt the woman beneath him.
“Please,” she whimpered. Her body, writhing in agony beneath him, took him to the brink of sanity. The pain of not fulfilling the spell took its toll upon her, the fever rising dangerously high. Once a spell this potent had been cast, there would be serious consequences if its demands were not met quickly.
No matter what he did, he’d be damned either way. If he took her while she thought him to be another, it would damn well be near rape in his book. If he didn’t, she would suffer in excruciating pain and quite possibly die.
His mind set and resolve firm, he prepared to do what needed to be done. He would rather Beth hate him than die in agony. Yet even though he did what he needed to ensure her survival, and would forever be plagued by guilt, he would enjoy every second of being with her.
Her scent was so unique and compelling. It stirred old emotions in him he’d thought long-since dead. Her body molded against his to form a perfect fit. Beckoning him to touch, lick, and savor it.
Her hands captured the sides of his face and brought his mouth to hers.
All time for rational thought had evaporated. They were each far beyond reproach, and now moving under the compulsion of the spell.
His tongue entered heaven to mingle with hers and, God help him, but her taste brought out the wild in him as he lined himself up with her wet, ready entrance. She cried out and scored his back with her nails as the spell continued to ravage her mind and body. She shook beneath him, tossed her head back and forth, gasping for air and fulfillment. Her vibrations and her squirming only heightened his own sense of need.
“Forgive me,” he whispered before seating himself within her in one swift, filling stroke.
His reward came when her hips lunged off the bed to meet him and, for a second, he feared he’d hurt her. Her entrance was tight, and her little body seemed to struggle to accommodate the sudden intrusion. Her little gasps sounded as though pain and torment had been vanquished and replaced with ecstasy, easing his mind.
With each quick, deep stroke, she kneaded his ass and pulled him closer. The fact he aided in easing the pains of her spell, coupled with bringing her pleasure, more than stoked him. Her hearty responses continued to act as an aphrodisiac as all the blood in his body rushed to one location. His cock was so damn hard; entering her warm, tight sheath had been exhilarating.
Her sexy sounds drove him crazy as she bucked, arched, grasped and sighed. Her sexual frenzy added to his own pleasures as he continued pounding into her. A fire raged within as he fought off his need for release. He wanted to stay with his angel as long as possible, and once she achieved release, the spell might break.
“Oh, Moss, I’ve needed you so.”
“And I you.” He might not be Moss, but he didn’t doubt Moss missed her. He drove deep and her legs locked around his waist. Their combined sweat began acting as natural lubricant, and their skin slid back and forth across each other. The resulting friction pebbled her nipples to utter perfection as they jabbed his chest, begging for some serious attention.
Far be it from him to remain ignorant.
Damien leaned over and suckled one into his mouth. The pearl bloomed even more as he rolled the bud around his mouth, gently nipping between each pass of his amply skilled tongue.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed his mouth against her breast, attempting to coax him into continuing his oral administrations — like he needed any encouragement. He chuckled at her aggressive bedroom nature and wondered how much came from the spell and how much of her behavior was truly her.
Had she shown Moss, whom she called for, this side? Or had Damien brought out the hellcat within her? His touch, his special attentions, and his own unique scent? Could he ever hope such a thing possible?
Deep down, Damien suspected the spell. But maybe the magic opened a dormant doorway for her, allowing her to be free of any and all sexual limitations she may have placed upon herself. He hoped maybe a small part was a direct reaction to being with him.
It had been so long since he’d had this kind of unity with anyone, much less such a young, vibrant woman as Beth. What he wouldn’t give to
hear her crying out his name when he made her come instead of Moss’s. To listen to her sultry voice uttering his name through her kiss-swollen lips. A pipe dream he’d pray for each night, as she loved and longed for another even as he slid languidly into her. He prayed for her benefit she wouldn’t remember their union tomorrow, or at the very least would somehow understand the necessity of his actions. He’d had no choice but to reciprocate her sexual advances even though he’d known she thought him to be her beloved Moss.
Even as his body tensed, prepping for its release, he cursed Octavia to all damnation. Prayed one day he could find redemption and escape from her all-powerful hold on him.
He grabbed Beth’s knees in a bruising grip, holding her wide open as he rode the building crest to a fevered release. Heard her breathing become hitched, erratic, and he scented she rode the cusp, herself. And with one last, near-violent thrust, the crest broke and they rode the wave of release together. Her cries of ecstasy mingled with his own rumbling roar. He relished watching her lids flutter open and the euphoric expression of release glimmer in her eyes before confusion and horror replaced any semblance of peace.
Her physical withdrawal hurt less than the betrayed look she wore now. “Who … who the hell are you?” she asked, angry yet tearing up all the same.
Damien sat back on his haunches, wanting to reach out and console her. Take away her pain and fear. “My name is Damien. How much do you remember of your past day?” He didn’t want to add to her confusion, but needed to know if she remembered Octavia or even the spell.
“I, uh, don’t remember much, actually. Everything’s all fuzzy, like I’ve been on a week-long drunk or something,” she replied, scooting farther up in the bed.
Sympathetic, yeah, of course he was. She awoke in a stranger’s lair and he could only imagine her level of discomfort. But seeing her turn pale in bewilderment and anguish at being in his bed and in his arms hurt, though, he’d feared this ending.
“Do you remember a witch named Octavia?”
She pulled the sheet up to her chin as she slowly tried to scoot away, closer to the headboard and farther from him. He stood, pulling on some loose sweats to help ease her discomfort at his naked state. He watched her eye him warily, not dropping her gaze from his. He saw a light go off, a small something jarred from her spell-laden memory.
“I … yes. I was driving … and then darkness surrounded me and she showed up. I was supposed to do something. Find somebody, I think?”
He caught himself from reaching out to tuck an errant strand of her silken hair behind her ear. Wanted to see her face and those gorgeous eyes peer at him with lust instead of fear. Instead, he stayed frozen in place as she ran a hand through her hair, pulling it up and away from her face, as she appeared to struggle to remember what she’d forgotten. She glared at him with accusation.
“How did I come to — to be here with you, like, uh … this?” she asked, still clutching the sheet around her for dear life.
“A spell was cast upon you. One that required specific actions for the effects to be neutralized.”
“A spell, as in magic? Like hocus pocus and abracadabra and all that jazz?”
He watched as she chewed her bottom lip, deep in thought, trying, no doubt, to come to grips with his statement.
“What kind of spell was placed on me?” she pushed, growing more agitated than frightened now.
“Apparently she placed some kind of sexual spell on you. One that left you writhing in pain and fevered from lack of sexual release.”
He wouldn’t tell her, but her face turned the cutest shade of red.
“What did I do?” Cringing, she peered back at him.
He schooled his expression to give away nothing as he tried to formulate an answer that would protect her from any embarrassment. “Pain had overcome you and — ”
“Oh, so then you — uh — we … oh, God.”
Shame washed through him, compelling him to turn away. He realized a true gentleman would have already offered her some warm, heavy clothes. He didn’t question she’d feel exposed and vulnerable, naked and in a stranger’s bed. Not to mention caves weren’t known for their warmth.
“I guess I should thank you, for um … well.” She shrugged, seeming at a loss for words. “But I’m still not clear how exactly I came to be here, or with you.”
“I’m at Octavia’s, the witch who cast the spell upon you, command. She called me forth and gave me orders to bring you here. I swear to you I was unaware of the exact spell she placed. She said she’d placed one, but until we arrived here you were still unconscious and not … ” He broke off, unsure how to describe her condition without furthering her agitated state. “It wasn’t until later I discovered what kind of spell she’d cast.”
She looked off then, as if she continued to struggle for even one memory. Fighting to remember who she’d been out looking for. The memories were there, locked away deep down. Time would release them but the wait would be torturous.
“Fuck.” She jerked back in the bed, anger radiating from each movement.
“Frustrating, I’m sure.” He readily admitted.
“Um, no offense, but a wee more than just frustrating. It’s like, well … ”
Damien’s gut twisted at her obvious distress. He had nothing against Moss, but for a few fleeting minutes, he … Well. It was pointless to even ponder such thoughts. She wasn’t his and never would be. Unless …
“Here, put this on,” Damien offered, handing her one of his tee’s, knowing it would hit her at dress length. I think you will find yourself more at ease, and if nothing else, warmer. I admit the place can get rather damp and chilly,” he stated, gazing about the cavern he called home.
“Where is here exactly?”
“My chambers,” he rumbled with pride.
• • •
Essentially, he’d told her squat. His chambers. Where in the hell was that, and why did it seem like they were in a cave? And why did her mind scream she’d forgotten something serious? A nagging reminder she’d been on an important mission. Geez, but her head throbbed. Each pulse felt like someone cracking her over the head.
“Moss,” she squealed, as if she’d just found the long-missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
She yelled it so suddenly, Damien turned back toward her before she had a chance to pull the shirt he’d given her the rest of the way down. Her breasts swayed a bit, and the look he gave her told her that, though he might have had no choice in doing the deed with her, he’d more than enjoyed himself.
“I don’t blame you, you know,” she whispered, surprising Damien as well as herself.
“Maybe you should.” He turned away, his head hung low.
She sat on the edge of the bed and wondered if Moss would understand what had happened. Infidelity? Could one, under a spell of this kind, still be held accountable? Would he understand what had happened and still believe in her? Still want her? Hell, that was if she even found him.
“This Moss, he loves you?” Damien asked quietly, not ready to admit yet he knew the reptile shifter.
“Uh, well … I’m really not sure how to explain. It’s kind of complicated.”
“What’s complicated about loving a woman like you?” he asked, still refusing to meet her eyes.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by “a woman like her,” but he’d made it sound like he thought her honorable or something. She couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what he aimed for.
“Well, this witch of yours, Octavia, led him to believe a lie. Shit! I remember now.” When Damien remained silent, she continued. “She told him a huge, horrible lie, and I was trying to find him to tell him the truth.”
The heavy wooden door to the chamber’s entrance slammed open so hard that when it made contact with the cave wall it splintered into a thousand tiny sh
ards. Instinctively, she jumped, lunging toward Damien, who’d come to place himself between her and the door in a protective stance.
“Step away from her,” a very angry, predatory hiss demanded.
His hair hung loose and wet, his bare chest heaving and glistening with sweat. He appeared as though he’d gone on a rampage through the swamp. He trembled with rage. But it was the glowing green eyes that tipped her off to the instability of the seething man before her.
“Moss?”
Chapter Fifteen
Moss stormed into the candlelit chamber and stilled as he seemed to scent something in the air. His eyes took on an ominous glare before he turned to stalk toward Damien. His intentions were clear, the resounding threat of violence present in each precise step.
Beth watched in horror as Damien switched from defensive to offensive. His muscles bunching, teeth bared, as he met Moss’s deathly glare with an equally lethal look. They began a slow, macabre dance, circling as each took on more predatory features.
“You have been with him.” A statement — gruff, accusing, menacing — not a question.
“It is not what you think, Bog Man,” Damien stated with a bit too much emphasis on “Bog Man.” It was a clear jab at who Moss was, who he resented being.
Beth never saw who struck first. She only caught a blur and a whistling of air before Damien went from standing in front of her to fighting for his life sprawled across the floor. She knew she’d never forget the grotesque sound of bones cracking or watching skin splitting, spilling blood onto the cave’s stone floor.
“Stop it!” she screamed so loud she swore she burst a lung. But it wasn’t loud enough, as neither so much as paused.
Fists continued to fly, as did muffled thuds as enormous knuckles made contact with flesh. Praying neither would be left with permanent injuries, she tried to figure out a way to make the meatheads stop.
Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance) Page 8
