by Lauren Dane
Moving through the crowd, Meriel realized the dark interior and the light effects would hamper her ability to sight Dominic Bright easily. Still, the club was filled with pretty, shiny men and women from all sorts of backgrounds so a bit of people watching would add to the fun. This was far more interesting than take-out and a movie.
She may as well head to the bar and grab a drink as she looked around. Meriel didn’t need a picture to know who Dominic Bright was. She’d recognize his magickal signature if he was there. She just needed to be patient and look around.
“Hello there, witch.”
Meriel looked up into the face of a very handsome Were. His looks matched the low bass of the voice, masculine, hard. Not a run-of-the-mill shifter, this one smelled of Lycia. Royalty even. Lycian pack royalty on this side of the Veil was an unusual sight. They liked to keep to their own realm instead of having to deal with humanity and all her complications.
“Hello there, Lycian.”
He laughed, showing straight, white teeth, as he leaned against the bar behind him and held out a hand. She reined in the urge to goggle at how big the aforementioned hand was. “Simon Leviathan. Can I buy you a drink?”
Oh sure, she knew she was there to find Dominic Bright, but no one said she couldn’t enjoy the attentions of a very handsome Were while she looked.
The warmth of his power rolled through her as she took his outstretched hand. He held on just a bit longer than simple courtesy dictated, letting the warmth of his energy roll over her playfully. The possibilities with this man could bear some thinking on. She let him have the smile she’d been holding back. “Pleasure to meet you, Simon Leviathan. I’d love a drink, thank you. I’m Meriel Owen.”
Meriel leaned around him and told the bartender she wanted a Jack and Coke. When she straightened, Simon’s hand found its way to her waist. Lycians were very to the point.
Recognition lit his eyes. “Ah, an Owen. What brings you here this evening, Meriel?”
His scent, rich and spicy, tickled her senses and tightened things low in her belly. Alpha males were a double-edged option. Who didn’t like a man who was self-assured? But she didn’t think she had the time to manage one.
“Just looking around.” Tool came on and she let the sound roll over her as she opened her magick, letting it float up and out over the crowd, seeking. Dominic Bright would be a very powerful witch to work those spells on the door. Merely the stolen energy from the font wouldn’t be enough. The magick that had to be melded together and woven into that sort of protection and deception was complicated. Only a very talented and powerful witch could manage it. It wasn’t just the amount used or borrowed, it was the ability to use it and build it into other things. In any case, the odds of that meant there would be very few with that kind of power in the room. Namely Meriel and Dominic.
“Holy shit, what is that?” He leaned in, taking a deep breath. “I like your magick, witch.” Simon leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Then again, you’re not any old witch are you, Red?”
“I’m not any old anything at all, Simon. Just like you’re not any old werewolf. You’re Lycian and your daddy is alpha of a pack back home. You’re marked.”
She paid attention to all that supercharged alpha male energy while keeping her seeking spell anchored. It wasn’t hard when she was surrounded by so much raw energy. All that sex in the air, all the Others in the room and the magick they bled off as they went about their evening fed her way more than enough. So much she was a bit giddy with it.
“Don’t run into too many people who’d know that.”
“I like to know things. I’m a curious woman.” Another thing she thought Owen should be doing better was reaching out to all groups of Others. Those Others who originated from the other side of the Veil—the Fae and Lycians—were far more powerful than those paranormals from Earth. They could move back and forth into other dimensions and their magick was unique.
Just how much Meriel didn’t know because they were just as secretive as witches and there wasn’t a lot of information sharing. She wanted that to change and if it came all wrapped up in this attractive a package, well, that was icing.
“I like a curious woman. Now, other than a drink, I think there might be a few other things I’d be happy to give you.” The smile he gave her promised all sorts of tingly things.
Before Meriel could respond, there was a definite tug at the end of her spell. She turned and saw the smudge in the energy of the magick. It’d snagged over at a booth on the far side of the room. There he was.
Sadly, she turned back to face Simon. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but the person I’ve been looking for is here, just when I’d begun to hope he wasn’t. I need to go deal with a problem.”
His face changed a bit as he looked in the direction her attention had been. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be here for another hour or so if you wrap up your problem. I come most nights. Or, I’m at the W if you find yourself in need of some company.”
She smiled, taking a long look from the top of his dark-hued hair to the tips of his expensive boots. Long and lean, broad in the right places. He sure was pretty to look at.
“Thanks for the drink. Maybe I’ll be seeing you around.” She touched a fingertip to her lips and took one last look.
He pushed a hand through his hair. Such a bad boy there. She winked and turned, swaying toward the tug on her spell.
The crowd moved aside as she walked, her magick brushing against them, tendrils of their energy drawing back into her, strengthening her as she took a taste of all that paranormal strength in the room. Heady stuff.
Chapter 4
SHE wasn’t surprised that he knew she was there. His awareness of that fact was quite clear as she approached. The energy of his focus on her pricked at her skin. Not painful, but clearly could be if necessary. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her. She knew his eyes were pale green even though the room was dim—eyes locked on her like a predator.
Dominic Bright in the flesh was a punch to the gut. A sensory wallop of total and unbelievable hotness.
Sprawled in a booth in a roped-off VIP section, his physical presence was nearly as large as his magickal one. The dark T-shirt he wore stretched over tight muscles and broad shoulders. Black boots peeked from the bottom of his jeans. Long legs stretched out before him.
Masculine. The man was breathtakingly masculine. Sharp features marked him, heavy-lidded, sexy eyes, a goatee; his shoulder length hair was thick and she wondered what it would feel like between her fingers. His lips promised such carnal delights she had to take a deep breath to steady herself.
His energy was immense. He had reserves she’d lay odds he had no idea how to use. She wondered if he even knew he was a council witch. So much raw power emanated from him she wanted to lean in and take a long sniff.
Since that would undermine her own position and power, and since most people didn’t smell each other in public, she refrained from the aforementioned sniffing and found her own center.
His gaze caressed up her body and settled upon her face. “Welcome to the Heart of Darkness, pretty witch.”
His voice was deep and scratchy. He didn’t yell over the music and yet she heard him perfectly.
She continued her approach, steadying legs that may have buckled had she been a lesser woman, stopping finally when her thighs touched the table. The scent of his magick hung about him like a heavy cloak. And fed her like she’d been starving.
“Mr. Bright, you’ve been a very naughty boy.”
“So I’ve been told a time or two. I take it you’re Clan Owen here to spank me.”
“I bet you have.” But she wasn’t there about that. Not until she finished this other business at the very least. She modulated her voice, not yelling, but whispering on the wind. “You tapped into Owen property without asking.”
His eyelids slid down just a little and she nearly moaned when he licked his lips. “Very nice. All that sex an
d magick … potent.”
One of her brows rose as she favored him with a smile. This one was a charmer.
“But you’re not a hunter.”
He knew enough to understand at least something of the structure of a clan. Ignorance wouldn’t be his excuse for theft then. “If I was, we wouldn’t be talking. We don’t want to kill you. We’re not like that. Most of the time. We just want you to ask nicely when you take our property.”
“Would you like to sit?” Goddess, his mouth was an ode to the creator. The way it quirked up just a bit when he finished a sentence was a sight burned into her retinas.
Her gaze flicked over the women splayed on either side of him before moving back to his face. She wouldn’t spill Owen business in public. Nor did she want to share his attention with anyone else. “I’d prefer to speak with you in private.”
He stood, stepping over the women carefully, and Meriel tried not to gulp like a sixteen-year-old girl. He moved the few feet to her, his energy barely leashed. It was a good thing she stood nearly six feet tall because Dominic easily topped six and change.
“Shall we go to my office?” He motioned with his hand and she allowed him to steer her, his hand at the small of her back. That touch nearly undid her.
Dominic had felt the Owen witch the minute she walked through the doors out front. Her power rolled through the building, slid through him, velvet and warm. Her presence coursed through his veins. She’d sent out her spell as he watched her drink with Simon at the bar.
He liked the way she tasted on the air. Bright and spicy. Dusky and earthy too. Her spell was clever and apparently effortless. Something like that might take him a few hours to create. He admired it, even as he kept out of range.
Unreasonable anger sparked when Simon did what Simon did best. Dominic had stewed as the Were put his hand on her waist and she responded, standing close and flirting. The closer she moved to Simon the more agitated Dominic had become until finally grabbing her spell and tugging hard to snag her attention. When she’d turned and he saw her face, really saw her face, he’d hesitated a moment, fascinated. Beauty and power, a very potent combination in any woman.
Watching her approach had been worth giving her his location earlier than he’d planned. She moved like sex, rhythmic, smooth like honey. Generous curves filled out the snug shirt and he liked the look of her legs with the short skirt and mid-calf Frye boots she wore.
Shit kickers, those boots. They sealed the deal as far as he was concerned. Another woman would be teetering in sky-high stilettos, but this one looked just as hot and she’d have been able to run his ass down if he gave her trouble.
He didn’t know a whole lot about the universe of clan witches, but he’d done some digging on Owen when he’d decided to use the back rooms there as a club for Others. This one was the daughter of the leader Edwina Owen. Next in line.
In a world of beautiful women, this one lodged herself in his attentions. He wanted more of her, which was interesting in and of itself. Powerful, so powerful he fought the urge to drag his tongue up her throat to get a taste. She held it to herself, snug. Tightly controlled just like the rest of her. He wanted to muss her up. Repeatedly.
Unbelievably, after less than ten minutes of seeing her, he had a mighty big want on for the delicious Ms. Owen.
He usually avoided sexual interludes with other witches. He was outclan and his unaffiliated status tended to make clan witches territorial. Before he’d been with them a few months they started talking about clan affiliation.
And he wasn’t a joiner.
But he couldn’t shake the image of her spread beneath him, naked, writhing, her body offered up to his hands and mouth like the feast she so clearly was. Without a doubt, he knew he needed to sink balls-deep into this woman’s body, and as soon as possible.
The hallway from the club back to his office was far quieter than in the club itself. He caught the sound of her breath, the hiss of fabric as they walked. Her scent wisped in her wake, seducing, teasing, but not giving him enough to satisfy.
He found himself wanting to slow down. Wanting to stretch out all the time he had with her. He must have done it because she reached his office and turned back to him, waiting.
He approached, not hiding the way he ate her up with his gaze. But when he reached around her body to use the small spell to unlock his door, their magick mingled for long moments. Tugging low in his belly, mimicking sexual attraction.
Interesting.
“Please, have a seat,” he said as they entered and he closed his door.
“I’m Dominic Bright, I didn’t properly introduce myself out there.” He bowed slightly, remembering he had some manners.
She waved a casual hand. “I know who you are. I’m Meriel Owen. We both know who the other is. Now, care to explain why you’re drawing from our font without permission?”
Up-front, this witch. He should just get it over with. He knew it. He needed to pay his dues or whatever. But the flavor of her magick all around him made him crave more. He wanted to spar, to whet his appetite for her.
“The wards here are for the good of all. I can’t see why you’d begrudge me that tiny bit of power.” He shrugged, spreading his hands out to appear reasonable.
She exhaled, clearly annoyed. It only spurred him on.
“Begrudging.” She rolled her eyes. “Really, Mr. Bright. If we begrudged you, we’d be teenage girls.” She shrugged. “Certainly we wouldn’t be powerful enough for you to be concerned when you shoplift from our font.” When she cocked her head, her hair slid forward, red, burgundy, threads of gold glinting in the light. He wondered what it would feel like. Before he reached to find out, he busied his hands with a pen.
“You’re using our magick and you haven’t asked. Clearly the nature of this place mandates strong wards to prevent exposure. And you know our position on exposure. So while Clan Owen is certainly sympathetic to your problem, the bigger issue remains.”
Yes, he knew the prevention of exposure was paramount to their people. And yes, he tended to agree that keeping what they were on the down low was a very good thing.
“Lastly, you’re a businessman, Mr. Bright. If I had a drink here, I’d have to ask for it and offer some sort of payment for it.”
“Or be so fucking sexy a Lycian prince buys you one.”
She smiled and he felt a corresponding tug in his groin. She shrugged and went on, “We all have our little bonuses in life. But in any case, you get my point. The font exists to be used by all witches within this clan. We don’t quibble with another witch using it. But there are rules and even an outclan witch knows to ask.”
He didn’t like asking any more than he liked rules. Damned witches and their rule obsession. Plus, he knew he’d have to give them information about himself, an in to his own magickal signature. He didn’t like anyone having knowledge about him that they could use.
Perceptive brown eyes looked into his. Reading him. Knowing. Saw through the outer facade, right into his soul. He didn’t like that she got him so well, much less the fact that he’d known her all of twenty minutes.
Just for the briefest of moments, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. But that brief moment was enough to send shards of desire splintering through his system. Her presence affected him so much he’d have suspected magicks, but there were none. He had excellent personal shields; he’d have known if she had attempted to ensorcell him. Just being near, the taste of her magick on his skin, had rendered him slightly punch-drunk.
He didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust anything that fast and intense.
She finally spoke, breaking the silence and saving him from the urge to blurt out that he wanted to take her back to his place and strip her naked. He wanted to see what sunrise looked like on her neck, what shadows it would create in the hollow of her throat, the dip of her belly button.
“I can close my eyes when you share magick with me, if that helps. That’s it, right?”
He paused, the
words stuck in his throat. Perceptive. So much so he found himself ruffled by it. He cleared his throat. “I don’t share magick very often,” he said, his annoyance clear in his voice. Enough that her eyebrows rose in response.
She sat forward, choosing her words carefully. “Look, I get that you’re probably unaffiliated for a reason and we respect that. We’re a clan, not a cult. We’re all members by choice. Others make different choices and that’s fine too. I respect your choice. But the font is powered by every witch in the clan and they all agree to let others use it as long as everyone shares. That’s how it works. We all pay in. We all can use it. If we let you shoplift, others will too. And then what’s the point? You don’t want to be in a clan, that’s your choice. But it’s not your choice to steal from us. We won’t allow it.”
She paused, letting what she’d said sink in. He’d never mistake her for a pushover, pretty face or not. She was a smart, savage woman who’d kick his ass from Seattle to Toronto if she had to. Which only made him want more.
Her voice softened, “No one can get into your head. No one can steal your magick.”
“But that’s how the font works. You take power from witches in the clan.”
She made a face, first annoyed, then confused. Strangely, he wanted to laugh.
“No, that’s not how the font works.” She twisted the bracelet on her left wrist and he saw her clan mark. A pretty, stylized O for Owen. “Has no one ever explained it to you?”
He shook his head. He didn’t need her pity. “I’ve been told enough to get by. I wasn’t raised in a clan. My foster father was my teacher but he’s unaffiliated.”
She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Fair enough. I’m not insulting your intelligence or what you were taught, but you don’t understand how it works. When you expend magick—if you’re keyed into the font—the magick once performed will absorb back. It’s a collector of sorts.”
She must have seen his confusion.
