Witching Night (After Dark Book 3)

by Sarah Bailey

  Clearly, there was no love lost between the two men.

  “He has little skill of his own. His bloodline is too diluted. His library has its uses.”

  “So, does that mean you inherit your magic from your parents then?”

  He glanced at her, his expression wary.

  “Yes. Both my parents are witches, but you can inherit magic even if only one parent has the right bloodline. There is just less certainty.”

  She wasn’t quite sure why he was looking at her with such an intense expression when he’d said that. She turned back to the bookshelf. She felt his eyes burning holes in the back of her head, but she ignored it. They weren’t here to chat about witches. She didn’t want to be in this house longer than necessary.

  Another title caught her eye.

  “The Demon Realm, I wonder if that has anything of use,” she muttered to herself.

  “That’s a bit heavy for the likes of you.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice, almost smacking into him. She hadn’t realised he was so close. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her as he peered over it. Too close. He’s far too close. She swore Alistair didn’t understand the concept of personal space and respecting it.

  “Aha, this might come in useful.”

  He reached past her and plucked a book off the shelf before she got a chance to look at the title. He slipped it into his coat, leaning over her again.

  “Let’s see, where would he have put the damn thing?”

  His face was right next to hers as he scanned the shelves. She turned towards him, eyes widening. Her breath caught in her throat. Her stomach twisted itself in knots again. She didn’t like the sensation.

  “You know, I think I might have an idea of what you could do for me.”

  “What would that be?” she squeaked.

  She hadn’t meant her voice to come out like that. A grin appeared on his lips. Her gaze fixated on them. He had a nice mouth. Cut it out, Grace! You don’t like Alistair. He’s annoying and arrogant.

  “Oh, well, perhaps we’ll speak of it when we’re not in danger of being caught.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw blue tendrils of smoke sweeping upwards. Her attention turned to the magic dripping from his fingertips. It carried up towards the top shelf and hooked around a book she couldn’t quite make out. It levitated out of the shelf and down towards them before dropping into his outstretched hand.

  “Of course, he’d put it where it can’t easily be seen,” he said.

  He moved away. She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He flicked through the book for a moment before snapping it shut.

  “Perfect.”

  “Can we go now?” she asked.

  She wanted to get out of here. She didn’t much like the sound of Quincy. Nor did she think he would be too impressed if he discovered Alistair had taken some of his precious books.

  “Yes, if you wish.”

  The sound of a key in a door had both of them freezing. Oh gods!

  “Quickly,” he said.

  He shoved her further into the room. She didn’t try to protest until he opened a door to their right and pushed her into a very small, very dark cupboard. He squeezed in behind and shut the door. She was stuck between the wall and a very warm, solid body.

  “What the hell?” she hissed.

  “Shh, he’ll hear you.”

  She wriggled, very uncomfortable by the sudden turn of events. She could feel his breath fanning across her cheek from where he was stood, his chest pressed into her back.

  “Alistair, you’re squishing me,” she whispered.

  “Be quiet.”

  She wriggled again, but he pressed closer, stopping her movements.

  “Grace.” His mouth was right next to her ear. “Stay still.”

  She’d never been more aware of another person in her whole life. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. His heart racing, matching her own. Oh, oh, oh! Heart, stop being so stupid! His fingertips brushed against the back of her hands in a motion she found distracting. She needed to get out of here. The darkness and his body up against hers was suffocating. She trembled, feeling rising panic at being so confined. His hand found its way into one of hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Was he trying to calm her down? If he was, it wasn’t working.

  She couldn’t hear any sounds except his breath and their matching heartbeats. She turned her face by a few inches towards him, feeling his cheek brushing against her own. She needed to move. She couldn’t stay still any longer.

  Somehow her mouth ended up on his. She froze. Oh, hell! She felt him stiffen at the contact. She couldn’t move away, couldn’t breathe. How had she managed to end up kissing Alistair in a cupboard? They’d only met yesterday. She didn’t even like him. He was the first to move. He shifted away, giving her room to breathe. He raised his hand, placing it on her shoulder and turning her around. In the confined space, it was no mean feat to do it silently.

  He pressed up against her again. His breath hot on her face for a moment before he kissed her. What? What is he playing at? Didn’t he know she’d done it by accident before? His lips were soft, yet insistent. She didn’t know how to kiss someone properly. She stood there stiffly, unsure how to react. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realised she didn’t mind him doing it. In fact, his mouth felt nice against hers.

  Her lips began to move of their own accord, in time with his. She didn’t know if she was doing it right. This kissing thing. He didn’t seem to be stopping. If anything, he took her responding as a sign of encouragement.

  His mouth was still gentle on hers, tentatively exploring her lips. Why the hell did he, of all people, have to be her first kiss? More to the point, why did she want him to keep doing it? Her hands curled around his back, holding him to her. She wanted him closer. It was completely at odds with her usual need to keep everyone at a distance.

  A small mewl of pleasure escaped her mouth. There was no hiding her reaction. She felt him smile against her lips. Oh gods, he knows!

  She was so mortified. She turned her head away, breaking off from the kiss. She could only be glad he couldn’t see her face. She could feel it flaming. She was sure it was beet red. They were still pressed up against each other. Her hands resting on the hard muscle of his back.

  “Oh, Oh gods,” she whispered. “I… did I do that right?”

  “What?”

  “Kissing. Did I… do it right?”

  Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? The last thing she wanted him to know was he’d been her first proper kiss.

  “Have you not done that before?”

  She wanted the ground to swallow her up.

  “No.”

  His hand went to her jaw, turning her face towards him. His lips brushed against hers.

  “Practice makes perfect.”

  What?

  His mouth was on hers again. All the blood felt like it was rushing to her head. She needed him to stop. Why did it feel so good? His hand curled around her neck, drawing her closer. His tongue was pressing against her lips.

  She let go of his back, bringing her hands up and shoving his chest. It was mortifying enough he knew he’d been her first kiss. If he’d put two and two together, he’d realise she was a virgin too. He released her, stepping back a little in the cramped space.

  “Stop that,” she hissed.

  “Didn’t you like it?”

  Completely stumped by his question, she looked up at him. If she lied and said no, he might never do it again. Oh gods! She shouldn’t be thinking that. She didn’t want him kissing her again. She didn’t. She swore she didn’t.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “You’re right, we should be plotting a way out.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  He was silent for a moment. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm the raging storm of emotions crashing down on her. Her first kiss! And with a man she barely knew. Not just any old man
either. A witch who had irritated her no end. Who’d have thought she’d wind up in this ridiculous situation? They were supposed to be breaking her contract, not making out with each other in a cupboard.

  “We’re going to have to risk it,” he whispered.

  He took her hand, opening the door and dashing out, tugging her along with him. The man with glasses they’d seen before stared at them with shock and horror plastered on his face.

  “Terribly sorry, old chap, but we must dash,” Alistair said.

  He slammed the cupboard door shut before tugging on her hand. They ran from the room.

  “Alistair!”

  Quincy’s voice echoed around the hallway, but neither of them paid the other witch any mind. He wrenched the front door open and they were out on the street. He didn’t let go of her hand as they ran. Blue smoke shot out in front of them, followed by a purple light. The two of them dived into the portal. They landed with a thump back in Alistair’s house. She looked up at him. His eyes were bright with amusement.

  “Did you see his face?” he asked.

  She smiled, biting her lip.

  “He looked like he was going to have a fit,” she said.

  And with that, neither of them could hold back and they promptly burst into a fit of giggles.

  Chapter Four

  Grace wiped her face, tears streaming from her eyes. She felt a hundred times lighter than she had done in a long while.

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll be hearing from my mother when Quincy complains about me breaking into his house again,” Alistair said.

  He made his way over to a desk by the window and sat down in the chair. He pulled out the two books he’d stolen, placing them next to each other. She followed him and peered over his shoulder.

  “How does this help with my contract?” she asked.

  He hadn’t told her before they’d left.

  “Contracts have something in common with magic. They both involve an element of the supernatural. This book contains everything my coven knows about it. Quincy shouldn’t have it.”

  He turned, looking at her intently.

  “I will get you out of it. It will just take a little research. Each demon has their own signature.”

  “Should I leave you to it?”

  His sapphire eyes met hers.

  “You wouldn’t be disturbing me. Pull up a chair. You might learn something.”

  He gave her a wink. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. He flicked his wrist out. A nearby chair moved of its own accord until it met her knees. She sat down, and it tucked itself under the desk next to him.

  “Show off,” she muttered.

  He smiled at her and pointed at the page he’d turned to.

  “See here, it talks about brands and the different types of contracts each one signifies.”

  She shifted closer, looking at the pictures he’d indicated. She recognised the one that matched hers.

  “This one,” she said, tracing her fingers over the page.

  “It’s to do with greed.”

  “My father likes to gamble.”

  “He gave up his soul in exchange for money? Well, can’t say I haven’t heard that one before.”

  She scowled. She knew it was her father’s weakness, but she didn’t like his judgemental tone.

  “He wasn’t always like this. It’s not easy raising a girl when you’re a single dad.”

  “No, I suppose not. Did he tell you why she left?”

  “He doesn’t talk about her much. All I have is a faded picture of her holding me after I was born. It’s like looking in the mirror.”

  She didn’t meet his questioning gaze.

  “You wouldn’t happen to want to show me that, would you?”

  Why would he want to see it? That made no sense, but was there any real harm in showing him? Her bag was still slung across her chest. She took it off and opened it, taking out the photo she always kept on her person. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she loved her mother. She didn’t know her.

  She gave him the photo. Her mother was smiling, looking down at the baby in her arms with love and affection. The sight of it made her sad. He looked it over for a moment. His fingers traced the small bundle in her mother’s arms.

  “She seems happy.”

  “Dad said she was, but he won’t tell me what made her walk out on us. Said it’s too hard to talk about.”

  He handed her back the photo with a troubled expression. She didn’t ask why as she tucked the photo back in her bag. When she looked back at him, his eyes were on her lips. He had been kissing them not long ago. Her cheeks grew hot. She pressed her hands to them, willing her blush to go away. Why was he looking at her like that?

  §

  Alistair couldn’t stop fixating on Grace’s mouth. He wanted to know what she tasted like. She hadn’t allowed him to kiss her thoroughly enough earlier. Her little revelation that she’d never kissed someone before had come as a surprise. He’d been with countless women, but none as innocent as the girl sat next to him. Yet, even with that innocence, she wasn’t completely ignorant. When she’d responded and made that adorable mewling noise, he’d wanted to do so much more to her.

  What was he doing? Playing with damn fire. That’s what he was doing. He knew exactly who she was and yet, he couldn’t seem to think straight when she was close to him. He knew he should tell his mother he’d accidentally found Ophelia Delacroix’s secret daughter. He couldn’t, however, bring himself to make that call.

  “So, now you know what type of contract it is, what’s next?” she asked.

  He looked away. He needed to stop staring at her.

  “I need to gather some ingredients. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

  He’d need to ask his mother for what he needed. It made things difficult.

  Grace had no idea who her mother really was. He had no intention of dragging her into the feud between the two warring covens.

  “Okay, well, I’ve still got work to do at home. I mean assuming you break my contract, I have to pay my rent somehow. Can’t ask my flatmates to cover for me.”

  “You live with people?”

  She didn’t seem like the type to have flatmates. She’d given him the impression she liked to spend most of her time alone.

  “Um, yeah, I’ve known Josh and Amelia since school.”

  “You never did tell me how old you are.”

  “Twenty-two, why? How old are you?”

  “That would be telling.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s hardly fair.”

  She frowned. Why did she have to look so cute when she did it? He mentally chastised himself, but, by the goddess, he wanted her.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Because I don’t know much about you and well…”

  She looked uncomfortable. What was she thinking about?

  “We kissed,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I assure you, I hadn’t forgotten about that.”

  Her face went a very interesting shade of red. He smiled at her. How could he forget? He hadn’t wanted to stop.

  “Twenty-seven.”

  He supposed it wasn’t such a bad thing that she knew. He shouldn’t be telling her personal details. Not when she was Ophelia’s daughter, but he had to give her something.

  “Oh. Well, you’re not that old, I suppose.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  She was grinning at him. He rolled his eyes. There were only five years between them. Nothing too scandalous.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  He hadn’t been expecting such a loaded question. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be helping her. He should be handing her over to his coven to use against Ophelia. Something stopped him. Grace was innocent. She didn’t deserve to have her soul dragged to Hell either, even if she’d done it to save her father.

 
“Because I can.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I do quite like the thought of rescuing a damsel in distress.”

  She knocked her shoulder into his in disgust.

  “I don’t need a knight in shining armour, thank you very much.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She rolled her eyes, shoving him again. He wondered what she looked like with her hair down. Why did she have to have red hair? It was his weakness. Acting on instinct, he turned to her, reaching out and tugging the band at the base of her braid. He heard the sharp intake of her breath.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t reply as he dropped her hairband onto the desk. He ran his fingers through the braid, untwisting the strands until her hair lay across her shoulders. He tucked his fingers under her chin, making her face him. She looked startled and confused. By the goddess, she is beautiful. Her eyes were like a forest, a deep shade of green. He ran his fingers through her auburn hair, the strands gleaming in the low light.

  “Alistair,” she whispered. “What are you—”

  He put a finger to her lips to silence her.

  “Can I kiss you again?”

  Her eyes widened to saucers. He didn’t want to scare her, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to know what she tasted like. She nodded against his finger. He moved his hand, cupping her cheek and bringing her closer to him. He could tell she was nervous by the way her hands trembled in her lap. He shouldn’t be doing this. Ignoring the warnings blaring in his head, he kissed her. She was stiff and unyielding.

  “Grace, relax,” he murmured against her mouth.

  She reached out, her fingers curling around the back of his neck. He felt her tension releasing bit by bit as she kissed him back. She inched closer to him. He should be gentle with her, but when her other hand brushed across his face, he tugged her towards him. She tried to pull away in protest, but she ended up in his lap.

  His fingers curled into her hair as he deepened the kiss. By the goddess, she tastes so sweet. She was a little clumsy in her attempts to follow his lead. He tried not to smile. She’d been telling him the truth when she’d admitted having no experience. She was breathless when she turned her face away, burying it in his neck.