Felony Hex
Saranna DeWylde
Esmerelda Payne is a good witch gone bad, and that’s the way she likes it. But there are consequences to every dark deed, and Esme’s comes in the form of the Witchfinder, who’s been hunting her for more than two hundred years. Nicodemus Frost is as cold as his name—except in her fantasies, where he’s hotter than Hades.
Frost has every intention of killing Esme for a grievous sin committed in her past life. But not until he gets what he wants in the here and now. He uses a spell to bend Esme to his will, make her crave his touch, his body. She’ll do anything he asks—and Frost will do the same, because the spell works both ways.
Now they’re equally consumed by lustful need…which makes it hard to notice common enemies approaching.
Felony Hex
Saranna DeWylde
Chapter One
Esmerelda Payne was good at being a bad witch—a fact evidenced not only by the sheer number of people who wanted her dead, but also by the names on her client list. Namely, the entire Amazon nation and all servants of Athena. So when Megaera Eumenides banged on her door, excitement and anticipation tingled in an electric current through Esme’s body. She wondered who she’d get to hex today.
“What brings you around at this hour, Fury?” Esme smiled, holding the door wide for the tattooed woman. An extra sense told her the visit was for more than just business.
“I must ask you two things,” Meg confirmed as she followed behind Esme.
“One is magickal and one is personal, yes?”
“Yes.”
“The first?” Esme walked into the kitchen and began making preparations for lavender tea.
“There are four dead Amazons. The most recent was Galatea,” Meg said grimly.
Esme stopped what she was doing and looked up at Meg. The news was a slap to the face. Galatea was just a kid, a new recruit. “No! She was so young! What happened? Mission go bad?”
“No, she was murdered.”
“Hell.” Esme sagged against the counter. “I just saw her last week. She wanted a birth-control potion.” Fate was a cruel bitch. It was things like this that reassured Esme she’d made the right choice to walk the dark path all those years ago.
“Do you know who she was sleeping with? The potion wasn’t for Nicodemus Frost, was it?”
Even his name was enough to turn Esme’s blood to ice.
Nicodemus Frost—the Witchfinder.
As frozen and arctic as his name implied, Frost was an efficient killer. He was the thing that hid in the shadows that all magickal people feared. He’d disguised himself among mortals as a priest, as a Grand Inquisitor and, in Salem, even as a humble farmer. He was the boogeyman.
And Esme Payne was the only person to have ever escaped him.
“What does that bastard have to do with any of this? Is he the one killing the Amazons?” Power surged through her like lightning, responding to her emotions. Not that it mattered. Frost was stronger than she was. That’s why she was still on the run. Currently living in Kansas City, she was hiding under his very nose.
“No. Galatea was living in his guesthouse. Supposedly she was working for him.”
That news wasn’t just a slap to the face—it was an axe in her gut. What had the girl told Frost about her? “Dear Goddess! Does he know where I am? Did she—”
“No, it’s nothing like that. You didn’t answer my question. Did you know who Galatea was seeing?”
Esme had to get her shit together. She took a deep breath and tried to remember what the young Amazon had been happily babbling about when she’d come for the potion. “Some cop. Said she met him in your shop.”
“What?” Meg was incredulous.
“Tall, dark hair. Said he looked very Goth for a cop. Ian something?”
“Spinner?”
The name clicked. “That’s it. Ian Spinner.”
“He’s the detective investigating the murders.” Meg eyed her for a moment before continuing. “Him and his partner—Marcus Kage.”
The hits just kept coming.
Marcus Kage. It couldn’t be the same Marcus Kage. It just couldn’t. Although there was a knot of dread that began at her knees and wound all the way around her body and up into her throat that said otherwise.
“Who?” Esme struggled to keep her voice steady.
“Marcus Kage. It’s good to have a Lycanos on our side, don’t you think, Esme?”
Lycanos? Yeah. It was the same Marcus.
The Marcus who’d loved her. The same Marcus she’d loved in return. And the same man she’d betrayed. She had allowed Marcus to believe he’d killed her when the Change came on him.
Esme didn’t bother with subterfuge. Furies could see guilt, taste sin, and Esme was drenched in it. She was surprised it had taken Megaera this long to see it—maybe because Esme wasn’t a big believer in guilt.
“Are you here to judge me as a Fury would, Meg?” Goddess damn, all of this hiding from Frost and it would be a Fury and friend who took her out.
“No. Not as of yet. You’ve been a great ally to Athena and her people. But you have to make this right. You have to tell Marcus that you’re not dead. He’s spent two centuries blaming himself, hating himself. Did you know he gave your father blessed silver bullets to atone for your death?”
“I did. I was hiding in the cellar when he came.” She’d been so terrified of him after the massacre in Haverdam. Esme had huddled in that cellar with a knife in her hand, ready to slit her own wrists if Marcus had found her. She hadn’t wanted to die mangled and ravaged by a beast.
It had been fifty years before Esme learned that wasn’t the Lycanos way. By then it was too late to tell him. She’d thought it best if Marcus just believed her dead. It was a coward’s way out, but Esme had never claimed to be brave or good.
Still, if she could take back one thing…
“Oh Esme.” Meg went to her. “I feel your remorse. Your sadness. Why didn’t you tell him? He would have forgiven you. More than that, he still would have let you go. He loved you.”
“I know.” Tears choked her. “I couldn’t face what I’d done. I couldn’t face him. I betrayed a good man. He deserved better than me, and I knew it. I grew up on stories of the Lycanos. Tales my cousins told me to frighten me in the dark. Then those mangled bodies of the girls were found in the next village and my sister took me to see… I’ll never forget it, Meg. Strips of flesh missing, organs like ground meat, and then when he showed me what he was…I couldn’t.” She shuddered at the memory.
Megaera pulled her closer. “Two centuries is a long time to hold on to that guilt, sorrow and fear. Tell him, Esme. It’s Fate that you’re both here in the same city after all this time. Ask for his forgiveness not for yourself, but so he can forgive himself.”
“I’ll tell him.” He deserved that after all, and it would keep the Fury from doing anything heinous to her. She’d heard the stories and Esme wasn’t about to trifle with Megaera Eumenides.
“Good. I have to go. And be careful, Esme. Frost is still gunning for you.”
Then the weight of the Fury glamour that had kept Esme hidden was lifted. She knew the withdrawn protection and her confession to Marcus were her punishments. She felt lucky to get away with her life. She’d do anything to live another day. Even face her longtime enemy.
“You leave him to me.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m done hiding. From both myself and from Nicodemus Frost.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew them for a lie. Those were simply the words the Fury wanted to hear. After her confession to Marcus, Esme was going to hightail her ass out of town.
Knowing Meg as well as she did, Esme was sure she’d send Marcus to her immediately. So after locking the door behind Meg when she left, Esme poured herself
a glass of wine and waited.
Less than an hour passed before she heard another banging on her door.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s KCPD, ma’am. Detective Marcus Kage. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
His voice still sounded the same even after all these years. The sound was both familiar and foreign at once. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought to hear again. It made strange things twist inside her.
She didn’t like it.
“Would you like to see my credentials?” he offered.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. “No, Marcus. I know who you are.”
If his voice made her feel things she hadn’t expected, the sight of him was apocalyptic.
She felt guilty.
Esme was a bad witch. Guilt wasn’t her gig. Remorse and guilt were two different things, and while she was remorseful, she—
By the Morrigan, enough! She just had to get this over with then she could run. Start her new life and find another way to hide from the Witchfinder.
“You’re as beautiful as the last time I saw you, Esme,” he said.
So was he. He was tall, strong, handsome. There was a goodness about him that came close to turning her stomach. She pursed her lips hard. “I don’t know what to say to you. Meg told me you— I—” Fuck.
“How about we start with what you know about Galatea and my partner, Ian Spinner?”
Esme swallowed and blinked several times, still acclimating herself to the sight of him. “Yes, of course. Come in?” She stepped back and held the door open. He followed her into the kitchen, where she offered him a chair. “Tea?” Tea was her answer for everything and it would give her hands something to do.
“No, thank you.”
His response pained her but it was to be expected. A refusal to take food or beverage when offered from another supe was a high insult. By refusing her hospitality, he was saying he didn’t trust her. Even if he wasn’t hungry or thirsty, the polite and expected thing to do would be to take one drink or one bite of anything offered.
“Meg was here this morning. She told me what happened to Galatea. Meg blames herself.”
“I know she does.”
“Meg doesn’t talk about her feelings with anyone. I’ve known her for years and I still have to guess what she’s thinking. You two are close?” Esme watched him carefully.
“We are,” he admitted.
Esme smiled, trying to find joy for him. She knew his succinct answer meant they were more than close. They belonged to one another. It also explained why Meg had such an interest in their history. “That’s good.”
While she felt genuine happiness for him, it was bittersweet. An onslaught of memories she had no business digging up crashed over her.
“So you were saying about Detective Spinner?” he prompted.
She found her voice. “Galatea came to me about four months ago and asked me to make her a contraceptive potion. She said she met a man, a cop. She was in mad love. Said he was Greek, like she was.”
“Greek” was the codeword some supes used to identify others of their kind who fit into the Greek realm of mythos.
“Ian’s not Greek.”
“All I can tell you is what she told me. She said he was Greek. And that she needed a potion.” Esme shrugged.
“How old was Galatea?”
“Early twenties. She looked like she was about seventeen though. She had so much passion for everything. She was going to change the world.” Esme remembered being that young, that impassioned. It was exhausting, and she was thankful she was old enough to know better.
“Weren’t we all?” Kage asked. “Did she say anything else about Detective Spinner to you?”
“Sure. She talked about him almost every time I saw her. Especially when she came back for refills on her potion. In fact, the last time we spoke, she said she wouldn’t need any more refills because she was going to meet his family and they’d decided to have a hundred babies.” Esme smiled again. “She said ‘a hundred babies’ like it was actually possible. Amazons can never carry more than two. Even with my help.”
“Did she ever introduce you to Ian? Show you a picture?”
Esme wondered why the intense interest in Ian. Wasn’t he supposed to be Marcus’ partner? Esme didn’t like where this was going. “I never saw a picture, but he picked her up in Furyous Ink long before she got her Amazon tattoo.”
“Meg knew?”
“No, her sister was running the shop then. Pandora. But she’s been out of circulation. On an island somewhere, recharging.” And maybe, penance done, Esme would go hang with her. Pandora could and would hide her. They were birds of a dark feather.
“Anything else you can tell me?”
Esme mentally sifted through all her interactions with Galatea before sighing. “No.”
Marcus stood. “Thanks for your time. If you think of anything, give me a call.” He dropped his card on the table and headed for the door.
“Marcus.” Shit. She had to apologize. She didn’t think she’d get another chance, but she also didn’t know where to start. What to say that could wipe away the years she’d stolen from him with her lie.
He turned to face her.
“I’m sorry!” The simple exclamation was torn out of her as if it had been bubbling beneath the surface for all this time, just waiting to erupt.
“Me too, Esme.”
A gamut of emotions roiled through her. It was like rubbing salt and lemon juice in a paper cut. “You—you don’t have to forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. But you never hurt me. So let go of your guilt, okay? Try to be happy?” Her voice trembled and she hated it. She sounded so weak, so vulnerable. Maybe her voice was shaking because she was about ready to throw up in her mouth. “And I hope someday you do forgive me.” That should appease the Furies.
Deep down, Esme knew the apology was for herself too. She hated admitting that even in her own brain; it meant admitting she needed validation from someone other than herself. And she certainly didn’t expect that he’d give it to her.
“I forgive you, Esme.”
His forgiveness came so easily, at first she didn’t believe it. There was no comfort. His words deflated her, crushed the bones and muscles of her legs and she suddenly couldn’t hold herself up. Marcus caught her easily.
It was so strange and wrong to be in his arms again. Memories of stolen kisses and afternoons spent holding each other while planning their future flooded her. She was drowning. “You never would let me fall, would you?” She gasped. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” Esme hated that she actually meant it.
“Forgiveness isn’t always for the person asking. It’s also for the person giving,” he said, helping her into a chair.
Esme sniffed. “You know, that’s what Megaera said.”
“And she would know. This guilt-punishment thing is kind of her job.”
The tone of his voice struck a chord, plucked something deep inside her until it resonated with a roar. Certain knowledge bloomed in the wake of that resonance. “Marcus… You love her.”
“We’re marked,” he admitted.
“She didn’t tell me.” And why would she? Meg was savvy enough to keep that close to the vest. Especially after discovering what Esme and Marcus had once meant to each other.
“It’s a recent development.”
“Oh.” New love. The thought of it made her sick and happy all at once. It was a cloying feeling and she didn’t care to experience it again.
They stared at each other, awkward and uncomfortable.
“It was good to see you, Esme.” He stood and turned to leave.
Good to see you. What a strange and hollow term. She thought for sure he’d rage at her, that he’d… No. She didn’t think those things. She’d wanted him to be angry at her. To punish her because she knew she deserved anything he could dish out. He was too good, too honorable.
In that one moment, Esme was
stabbed with regret so sharp, it burned. Again she stopped him from leaving. “Marcus? If I could change the past, I would.”
“But you can’t change the past. No one can. We can only live with what we’ve made. Take care of yourself, Esme.”
“You too,” she called after him—and Esme found she meant it. There was a strange puffy feeling in her gut where fear had been. Maybe she’d try this sorry stuff again sometime…
Later. When she was safe. And only if the person hadn’t deserved whatever Esme had done. For now, the Fury had revoked her protection and Esme was on her own.
She didn’t waste any time running for her bedroom to grab her “emergency” bag. It was packed with a choice of new identities, clothes, magickal supplies, money…everything she’d need to start over.
But Esme wouldn’t be taking that bag anywhere.
In her bedroom, the Devil himself waited.
Chapter Two
Nicodemus Frost stood tall and formidable, an impassable mountain range between Esme and freedom.
But he couldn’t really be there. Her house was warded against uninvited guests, and he definitely wasn’t on the list for a warm welcome. It had to be some kind of magic.
“Well, wasn’t that just touching?” he sneered.
Esme didn’t answer. Instead she watched as the room behind him seemed to melt away, a background dripping down black canvas in colorful rivulets.
She launched herself from the room, using her magick to speed her escape, but the assassin was faster. He caught her easily, her back to his chest, arms locked around her, and Esme couldn’t move.
Magic or no, he felt real. And even though his breath was warm against her ear as he spoke, the frigid cold of his nearness went bone deep, like icy spiders scuttling down her spine. “Your number’s up, bitchcraft.”
Esme began to mutter an incantation that would flay the skin from his body…
And Frost didn’t try to stop her.
She’d been prepared to bite him if he’d covered her mouth, but he made no move to impede her spell. Esme trailed to a stop then closed her mouth.
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