Kougar, Savanna - Kandy Apple and Her Hellhounds (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)
Page 2
Lounging one hip against the banister column, he asked, “Where did you purchase that interesting new technology?”
“Witches R Us. Ever go there?”
Kandace continued climbing the stairs. She had no time to waste, even if he was big-time wasted. Wondering if she should strap him down with a few energy bands so he didn’t take a header down the staircase, she moved onto the step below the landing.
“Oh, I get it.” With his jaw too lax, he smirked unattractively. “You’re staying in character for tonight’s theme, come as your favorite twenty-first century witch.”
“Yep, you guessed it.” She wiggled her fingers in front of his eyes. “And this spell’s for you, if you don’t toddle on off to bed and sleep it off.”
Kandace curved her mouth into a silly fake smile, and waited. She hated using her powers on other humans, and never did unless they deserved it, or if forced to by circumstances.
Other humans, the words slapped her upside the head…so it felt. Kandace didn’t know if she actually was human. Not positively, absolutely. Raised by adoptive parents, she’d learned not to frighten them with her magic as a youngster.
Kandace owned no real idea who she was, or where she came from. No amount of searching had uncovered any answers about her bio parents. No matter the leads she’d pursued, she still owned not one clue why she possessed actual magical powers, sort of like Samantha in the old black-and-white TV show, Bewitched.
“Lawrence,” a young woman called out, only in a sophisticate sort of way, of course. “Lawrence, where are you? I’m worried.”
“I’ll bet you’re Lawrence, aren’t you?” Kandace poked drunk rich boy in the chest as he sloppily grinned.
“I was supposed to meet her for a naughty-sex rendezvous.”
Kandace watched as his eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward. She pressed her palm to the center of his chest, minimally using her force to stop him from crashing down the steps.
Moved backward by her magickal blast, Lawrence crumpled, falling like an ungainly sack of laundry. His back hit with a decided thud.
“Lawrence!” the woman shrilly cried out.
“I should have turned you into a frog,” Kandace whispered for own amusement.
Maneuvering around dead-to-the-world Lawrence, Kandace hurried along the corridor as fast as her shiny red high heels would allow. With her blue ball still lighting the way, she found the right door in no time.
To find out if it was locked, she reached for the knob. But, before she’d touched it, the door swung open.
Kandace spun to the side, glad her petite frame was easily hidden, but not glad a drape hook stabbed her lower back.
After dissolving her lightball, she scooched sideways, and flattened herself. The brocade fabric framing an oil painting partially concealed her.
Still, Kandace summoned more of her power just in case. Her witchy tingles skittered through her instantly.
A woman and man emerged, and she paid close attention to their discussion. The Hendersons, she recognized their voices. They were so-called philanthropists, and prominent players in raising the big money for charities.
Though, it was well known within art circles, the Hendersons and many others used the charity money to purchase artwork. That included paintings stolen for the express purpose of being sold to private collectors. And, the very reason Kandace had wrangled a ticket for this event.
“How soon?” Mrs. Henderson asked, her tone fraught with worry.
“Within two days. So he claims. I don’t trust him,” Mr. Henderson answered.
“Is Nigel available?”
“I believe so. I’ll contact him at the usual time. He’ll know what to do.”
“If he doesn’t, what shall we do?”
“There are other contingencies in place. I assure you, darling.”
As their voices faded, Kandace listened for anyone else, while her mind whirled like a madly spinning carousel. Nigel Blanthorpe, likely the Henderson’s Nigel, owned an art import-export company. Specifically, he had two immense warehouses, used for storing art pieces and for the private showings.
Kandace knew several artists and honest collectors who would have given their eye teeth to get a look inside those warehouses, believing they’d find their stolen pieces. Although, none of the art she’d tracked magickally for friends and friends of friends had ever been hidden there, or in Nigel’s residence.
Grabbing a breath, Kandace crept toward the door. This time she expanded her awareness to the interior, checking for anyone else, before turning the knob.
The door cooperated as if she’d put a spell on it. Slipping inside, she closed the door so there was not the tiniest sound. She pivoted around and waved her hand, creating a soft illumination.
Paintings adorned all four walls of the private office. A mixture of modern, impressionism, and realism, they were all forgeries, to her utter astonishment.
That is, except for the painting Kandace planned to steal back. Of course, many collectors had forgeries done of their prize pieces, keeping the real art in secure underground vaults that were, more often than not, lavish showrooms.
Psi-detecting forgeries had become a magickal specialty of hers, ever since Kandace’s sister, Meredith—also adopted by her parents—had opened up her own small art gallery, then been tricked by a man supposedly selling his original.
Curious, Kandace roved her gaze over the eclectic selection of paintings, unconcerned about surveillance measures. There would be none in this keep-all-deals-under-the-table office for the rich and famous.
While something pricked at her about the collection, something she didn’t have time to figure out, Kandace moved toward the painting stolen from her friend. Valerie and her husband had found the early Frederic Remington painting at an estate sale.
Despite the layer of grime, Valerie had known. Since the age of twelve she’d had a love affair with the Western artist, and already owned every print available.
Kandace paused, studying the wall around the Remington for any hidden alarms. Discovering one, she disabled it with a point of her finger.
A slight hiss of sound alerted her. Inadvertently, she’d triggered another alarm and the mansion’s security team would be headed her way.
Keeping her cool, Kandace aimed her finger directing the Remington from the wall, and onto the Georgian antique desk. Swiftly flowing her palm over the frame, she found the embedded RFID chip and GPS locator. Loosening the frame with more of her magick, she carefully removed the precious canvas.
Shutting her eyes, Kandace concentrated, then zapped the Remington to the trunk of her car. She followed it with her mind’s eye, watching the painting settle within the climate-controlled container.
Rapidly moving toward the door, Kandace eliminated the illumination she’d manifested. Cracking open the door, she peeked out. An army of footsteps rushed up the main stairway. From the other end of the long corridor she heard the jogging run of another team.
“What’s a witch girl to do?” she whispered, gently closing the door.
A whole lot of tricks so not up my sleeve. How easy peasy cool would it be to suspend them on the ceiling with a snap of my fingers?
Kandace battled her temptation to do just that. However, a blatant use of magick was never smart in a world ruled by science.
Plus, she’d already had a few astral run-ins with psychics working for the shadow government. They regularly searched for specimens like her to be rounded up or recruited.
Backing away, Kandace raised her arms, and focused on centering her force. Wiggling her nose like Samantha in Bewitched, simply for the fun it, she brought forth an invisibility cloak.
While it would only last for a few minutes, that should give her enough time to rejoin the charity event. Appearing to be innocent in the face of her magickal heist was crucial.
Hearing the tromping charge of security, Kandace retreated to wait beside the desk. The door flew inward and the lights blazed on.
The instant the doorway cleared, Kandace made a beeline for it. As she escaped, she wished she’d thought to take off her heels. Still, she’d worn her mid-thigh bouffant skirt since it didn’t hinder her.
Hastily, she minced her way to the staircase, and quickly descended. She huffed breaths because the bodice of her fire-red dress was tight as a corset.
Even though she remained invisible, Kandace felt relieved she saw no one. She wasn’t without mass. Someone could definitely feel her.
Oh crap, oops. There had been no one on the stairway when she’d just looked.
Now, two brawny men in matching dark suits pistoned their legs, trotting up the stairs. Thinking, yet acting on instinct, Kandace clambered astride the banister. Thank the Goddess, it was a straight slide to the bottom now.
She whooshed downward easily because of her expensive pantyhose. As she whizzed past the two super security guys, her skirt brushed the thigh of one. Hardly breaking stride, he glanced back.
“Felt one of your damn ghosts,” he growled to his partner.
“Told you the place is haunted,” his partner replied.
“Yeah, yeah. Casper isn’t happy tonight.”
“No one’s happy tonight with that painting disappearing right beneath our noses.”
“We’ll get the bastard, or fucking bastards.”
“Yeah, no cat burglar is that good.”
I am that good. For I am the notorious cat witch burglar.
Squinching her eyes shut, Kandace prepared herself for a collision with the Roman-style column at the end of the banister.
Her butt hit with a big ole thwack!
“Ow.” Kandace briefly rubbed her stinging derriere. Scrambling to the floor, she hurried toward the women’s lounge.
After stepping behind an art deco screen, she drew in a composing breath. Kandace smoothed her skirt, then shook back her hair. Or, as her sister called it, her electric-socket chestnut mane.
She waited on the sensations that told her she’d become visible, then nonchalantly strolled toward the nearest bar. Kandace smiled at the woman dressed as Hollywood’s idea of a beautiful witch, as she pretended to stir a potion inside a witch’s cauldron.
Chapter Three:
Ménage à Trois Red
Zin watched the witch slide down the grand staircase’s banister.
“Look at that,” he uttered, his gaze riveted by her perky, peach-shaped ass. Covered only by the black silky material of her pantyhose, it was a temptation beyond compare.
“An arousing sight, indeed, as proven by the tight fit of my pants.” Zol particularly appreciated the small witch’s legs as she athletically flung them, maneuvering off the banister. “Gorgeous gams, slim and curvaceous.” He took a long sip of his extra dry martini to distract his raging ardor.
“She must be who they’re searching for.” Zin followed suit with his martini for the same reason as his twin. Though, an icy dip in their natural outdoor pool would have served him better.
“I wonder what her gambit is.” Carnally spellbound, Zol watched her quick progress toward the women’s lounge.
“I wonder if she’s available for our taking.” Zin let his hound out to hunt and gave slow chase.
“Yes, let’s find out.” Drooling inside over the lithe sway of her hips, Zol kept pace with Zin.
They ambled after her as if urbanely enjoying the mansion’s Halloween decor. Gradually, the shimmer of her invisibility vanished. They paused as if on point and waited until she emerged from behind the French-inspired art deco screen.
“Is anyone observing our odd behavior?” Zin stared at the perfectly round swells of the witch’s breasts displayed above her candy-apple red dress. She’d turned around to wave at a man, a gay artist, who blew her a kiss.
“No, no one,” Zol answered after completing a mental scan, one of his specialties.
“Good. We may continue our avid pursuit.” Zin decided he required roomier trousers to accommodate the growing size of his cock.
“Small, yet ample. I’d insanely enjoy lapping her teats.” Zol focused his powerful eyesight on the shape of the sexy witch’s nipples beneath her snug-fitting bodice.
Zin finessed his mind probe from the adorably beautiful witch. She’d been about to discover his presence. “We may need to protect her, before sampling her banquet of sexual delights. She has pulled off the heist of a painting.”
“You read her personal field. That’s not allowed, brother,” Zol commented, even though he’d been about to read her himself. With his gaze happily trapped by the Enduoir witch, he tasted his martini. Sassily, she moved to the bar, ordering a drink.
“It certainly is if we intend to know her charms better, my brother. A small concern, though, I doubt she is aware of her heritage. Thus, her true power as a witch.” On her trail, Zin sauntered in his most polished manner toward the bar, as if he sought another drink.
He ignored the inviting gazes of two women. Instead, he studied the witch’s power, her magickal strengths seen as luminous globes surrounding her head.
Zol matched his brother’s stride, then offered, “You are definitely correct. A guaruvyr would be close by, protecting her, if she’d arrived from Enduoir Prime.”
“To our advantage, brother, we need not be cautiously watchful for an attack by a winged cat guardian.” Zin drained his martini glass while he strolled, keeping one hand idly placed inside the pocket of his dress pants.
“Yet, if she was brought to Earth in secret, who is the enemy she is being hidden from?”
Zol scanned the etheric trail of her arrival from the planetoid that orbited the sun near Pluto’s area of the solar system. In another compartment of his mind, he knew his brother searched the beautiful witch’s vibrational field for clues.
“Discover anything about her?” Zin asked, puzzled he’d found nothing of use.
“Only that she entered by a temporary portal as an infant.” Zol eased them through a gathering of lower-rung socialites, who had descended on a local celebrity. The woman worked as a news anchor for a television station.
“Bewilderingly odd.”
“Yes, indeed, odd.”
Zol smiled dashingly at Mrs. Nordstrom, holding up his nearly empty martini glass as an excuse not to join her group. No doubt they chatted about the latest and most fashionable paranormal events.
It amused him and Zin to join in and listen to the humans’ stories. Their speculations were endlessly inventive, always providing topics of conversation with the other Supernaturals they knew.
Mirroring each other, as they often did, he and Zin dangled their martini glasses from their fingertips with what they considered to be stylish elegance.
They’d studied several recent periods in American history to determine how they wanted to present their human side. Discovering a fondness for the sophisticated late thirties and early nineteen forties, they emulated the traits they most favored.
“Spooky action at a distance,” Zin praised, his tone darkly barking with lust.
“You don’t refer to quantum entanglement, do you?” Zol drily chuckled.
“No. Although, entanglement with the beauteous witch is to be desired. Her hair is utterly spectacular.”
“Hmm, she may be quantum in her passions, wouldn’t you say, with those deep flame-colored tresses?”
“Her hair appears alive, as if each tendril is reaching for the cosmos.” Zin gestured, a subtle sweep of his arm. “You don’t think she’ll mind terribly that we’re hellhounds.”
“Perhaps, seduction is in order, first, before we confess our savage canine natures to her, and our Underworld affiliation.” Zol’s cock shoved forcefully against his zipper, leaping toward the slender-as-a-sylph witch.
“Seduction, yes, I agree. As I see it, our immediate hurdle could be her acceptance
of us as twins. A Ménage à Trois, if you will.”
“Yes, like the wine we once imbibed, Ménage à Trois Red. Do you recall the Folie à Deux Winery’s ad? I believe it speaks to how intoxicating she is to my male libido.”
“Ah, there it is.” Zin read from the image before his mind’s eye, “Even if red wine is not your speed, give our Ménage à Trois Red a try. This wine exposes the fresh, ripe, jam-like fruit that is the calling card of California wine. Three saucy grapes make up the blend. Zinfandel adds a juicy character, Merlot mellows and Cabernet adds backbone. Forward, spicy and soft, this delicious dalliance makes the perfect trio.”
“Dalliance makes a perfect trio.” Zol savored the words and what they portended. At least, he hoped it was their immediate future. “Is your cock behaving as impatiently as mine?”
“Yes, misbehaving quite badly for this elite event we attend. The closer we come to her, the more sensually splendid she is to look upon.”
Zin slowed his stride as the petite yet long-legged witch twirled around, a frothy red drink in hand. “Do you think she could be the one?”
“Our one witch? There’s only one way for us to find out.” Zol’s breath caught as she sipped, her dainty loveliness his undoing.
Both of them halted in their tracks, panting fast as old-fashioned steam engines, yet silently.
“We must approach her in a manner that will not alarm her.”
Zin pivoted and pretended to contemplate one of the displayed paintings while he kept the sin-tempting witch in his peripheral vision. At the charity event there were several roped-off sections featuring the paintings of up-and-coming artists.
“She will already be skittish.” Zol sauntered before a painting, pretending to evaluate the artist’s work.
“With good reason. The private security teams are circulating. They must believe the thief is still present.”
“Given the brevity of her evening dress, it is unlikely she will be a suspect.”
“Yes, unless, they believe it was stashed or handed off to a partner.” Zin sidled toward another painting and tilted his head. He would title it, A Clash of Astral Entities, since it reminded him of the gang-like warfare on the low astral levels.