Getting Familiar with Your Demon: That Old Black Magic, Book 4

by Jodi Redford

  He gave Pricilla one final look, hoping with every breath in his body it’d be the last time he’d be forced to gaze upon her, or at least while under her control. Conjuring the image of his GTO, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was sitting behind the wheel of his vehicle. The warm, welcome smell of leather upholstery surrounded him an instant before the suffocating heat followed suit.

  Bloody hell. Talk about fucking hot. Sweat sliding down his forehead, he grimaced and dug in his jacket pocket, fumbling for the key. Locating it before he melted into an unrecognizable puddle, he twisted the key in the ignition and cranked down the windows. Six months of accumulated stale air escaped the vehicle. He struggled out of his jacket and dumped it on the passenger seat. The coolant finally kicked in, blasting him in the face with the full impact of its icy fury.

  He clicked the automatic door opener and glanced at the dashboard clock. Eight p.m. He had no idea how long this damn ball was going to run tonight. Hopefully he’d have enough time to find and seduce his potential brand-breaker into knocking boots and then high-tailing it out of there before anyone became wise to him.

  Realizing he had no clue where he was going, he rifled one-handed in his jacket until he located the checklist from Cass. At the bottom she’d scrawled directions to the Cosgrove mansion. The residency was in an affluent section of Savannah. He knew the area well, since it wasn’t far from one of his favorite watering holes.

  He took a left out of his drive and headed into the heart of the city. Tourists and locals jam-packed the streets and sidewalks. The smoky strains of rhythm-and-blues and the dirtier, wailing beat of honky-tonk drifted from the numerous nightspots luring in patrons. Eventually making his way through the congested traffic, he entered the quieter neighborhood near Monterey Square. Lush palms bordered the road, filling the air with the pungency of tropical greens. Here the houses were bigger than life. Refined, elegant reminders of days gone by.

  Up ahead, a long line of cars blocked the street. Safe to say he wasn’t the only one making a fashionably late arrival to the ball. Choosing to forgo the wait at the valet stand, he parked in front of one of the neighboring houses. The tall, Palladian windows were dark. Either the owners were down the street at the party or not at home. Regardless, not much chance they’d bitch about him blocking their drive. And if they did, they could kiss his ass.

  He decided to leave his jacket—along with Cass’s damn checklist—in his GTO. After fetching a couple condoms from the box and stuffing them in his pocket, he slammed the door shut and strode toward party central. He typically wasn’t one for festive hoopla. His stance on large gatherings quadrupled when he neared the Cosgrove mansion and noticed the amount of people milling around outside.

  There was a reason he didn’t do parties. The potential of vast hordes of annoying people in one space were huge. Knowing pretty much everyone here was a Glen and Glinda the Good Witch made him wish Cass had packed along some antacids. He neared the walkway leading to the main house, and several of the folks loitering outside slid him curious looks. When a few of them started to frown, he sped up his pace, bypassing the congested front entrance. He hoofed it toward the narrow lane bisecting the mansion and its smaller carriage house. Illuminated glass lanterns staked along the jasmine-lined path guided the way to the unmanned service door.

  Grateful to have no witnesses to his stealthy entrance, he tried the knob and discovered it was unlocked. He ducked inside the small corridor. Judging from the noise and clatter coming from the adjacent room, he was on the other side of the kitchen. He ambled in the direction of the white double doors in the distance. The ironic symbol of those doors wasn’t something he failed to catch—the innocent purity ready to bar admittance to the evil dark demon. He was half tempted to propel the things open with one fell kick. Show ’em who was boss.

  Unfortunately, it’d probably only make him look like a jackass with a strange grudge against doors. Not to mention it’d draw unwanted attention. Slightly disappointed at the necessity of using the handle, he walked out into a much larger hallway filled with costumed revelers. Chatter was loud and boisterous. No one paid him much mind as he made his way through the throng.

  A dude in servant livery sidestepped a pair of lovebirds locked in an embrace. Sam stole one of the bottles of beer from the guy’s tray before striding in the direction where the majority of partiers seemed to be headed. He took a swallow of the microbrew and walked into the crowded ballroom. The alcohol went down hard as the headache-inducing chorus of Funkytown pounded his eardrums at a decibel easily heard the next county over. His temples throbbing in tempo with the beat, he gaped at the dancers grooving joyously in the middle of the cavernous ballroom. What fresh hell is this?

  Convinced he was walking into his worst nightmare, he took a halting step into the room. For devil’s sake. The things he did in the name of survival. As if the torturous music wasn’t enough to contend with, the overwhelming white energy emanating from those around him felt suffocating. Sticky beads of sweat dotted his forehead and crawled along the nape of his neck.

  Ignoring the consuming need to turn tail and run his ass as fast as he could out of there, he ventured deeper into the overcrowded space. Enthusiastic dancers jostled him on all sides. He’d never been more aggravated with humans in his life. And considering some of the assholes he’d had to deal with, that was saying a hell of a lot. He maneuvered around a guy dressed like Elvis who was doing some kind of weird flapping chicken dance.

  These people shouldn’t be allowed out in public. Smothering his growl—and the urge to punch Elvis in the side of the head—Sam approached the bar. He drained the remainder of his beer in one long, chugging swallow. At this rate, he’d have to consume an amount that’d put anyone else into a coma just so he’d develop enough of a buzz that’d hopefully keep him from killing someone. Might be kind of hard convincing one of these witches to sleep with him if he was strangling their dance partner.

  A spot opened at the bar, and he took over the space. Plunking the empty bottle down, he held up a finger, giving the bartender the signal for a replacement beer. Drumming his other hand on top of the bar, Sam glanced down. He cocked an eyebrow when he realized he was tapping the lid of a coffin. Despite his foul mood, he grinned. Okay, the music sucked donkey dong, but at least the decorations were cool.

  The bartender deposited a newly opened bottle of Budweiser in front of Sam. Glancing toward the overflowing tip container, Sam grimaced. Shit. He hadn’t brought his wallet. If he didn’t leave a buck or something, he’d look like a damn cheapskate. Digging in his pocket, he grabbed one of the condom packets and flipped it into the jar. The bartender blinked before a come-hither smile curved beneath his mustache.

  Even if the dude was a white witch, there was no fucking way Sam was playing hide the salami with him. He grabbed his beer and quickly pivoted—right into the woman rushing toward the bar. She smacked into him, spilling her drink on his shirt.

  “Oh goddess, I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him and gasped, her big blue eyes widening.

  Even with her glorious blonde hair half hidden beneath an ivy wreath and glitter sprinkling her face, he’d recognize his rescuer anywhere. Their stares remained fused on each other. Although he’d known there was a strong chance she’d be here, he’d held out hope they wouldn’t run into each other. That right there had been his first mistake. It was damn well a universal law that if there was a way for something to fuck up his plans, it was gonna happen. His second mistake had been assuming a clear head would mellow his reaction to her. The exact opposite proved true. He held his breath, trying without success not to drag in her delicious scent.

  A clumsy dancer knocked into them and propelled her against Sam’s chest. Breaking from the spell of stunned silence that’d apparently held her hostage, she blinked at him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a fierce whisper, her fingers clutching his waist.

  “Enjoying the party.” Shit, that had to be the biggest l
ie he’d ever uttered. Although having her wedged against him might prove to be the highlight of his night.

  “Are you insane?” The question must have only been rhetorical because she looked away from him and darted a furtive glance to the sea of bodies moving around them. Panic tightening her features, she jerked her attention to him and let go of his soaked T-shirt. Her empty glass fell from her fingers and slammed against the toe of his boot before rolling to the floor between their feet. She inched backwards. “Y-you can’t be here, Samael.”

  He stared at her. “How the hell do you know who I am?”

  She swallowed, the slender muscles in her throat working. “I—I heard Jasper call your name. So I looked you up in the registry.”

  These damn witches had a registry on him? Then again, should he be surprised? They were aggravating, meddlesome creatures.

  She took another tiny step back, and her gaze slashed to the left again. He narrowed his eyes. A waiter passed by, and Sam thunked his full beer on the silver tray before advancing on her with grim purpose. “What, precisely, did you find out about me?”

  “Enough.”

  Another exuberant dancer whirled into her, jostling her sideways. The individual laughed and swung a scrawny arm around her waist. “There you are, Marabella.”

  Sam glared at the sandy-haired pipsqueak. For fuck’s sake, the dude was wearing fangs and glitter. What was the damn world coming to?

  Twinkle Toes frowned at Marabella when she didn’t respond to him. He followed her gaze to Sam, and his frown deepened. “Who’re you?”

  Your worst nightmare, Glitter Boy. “Her date. What the fuck is it to you?”

  “No you’re not.” Scowling, the kid turned toward Marabella. “Is this guy bugging you?”

  Worried she was seconds away from blowing his impromptu cover, Sam tugged Marabella into his arms. “She loves it when I bug her, don’t ya, snookums?”

  She gaped at him, and he read the panic flashing in her eyes. Her lips parted, the threat of exposure likely milliseconds from popping free.

  Desperation had cornered him into committing plenty of half-baked, moronic acts. None of them came remotely close to the stupid asshatery of what he was about to do. Sliding his hands through the loose tendrils of hair framing her head, he leaned down and crushed his mouth over hers. He swallowed her shocked gasp. Her sweet, addictive taste immediately invaded his senses, firing his awareness of her into hyperdrive.

  What started as a means of keeping her from revealing his identity quickly morphed into something far more primal and elemental. He thrust past her lips, his tongue seeking hers. She submitted with a hunger that nearly matched his, leaning into him so her delectable breasts pillowed his chest. He grazed a hand along her shoulder and dipped beneath her elbow to cup the side of one plump mound. She moaned breathlessly.

  He didn’t know how long they stood there devouring each other. It wasn’t until a pointed cough intruded on the moment that he recalled they had an audience.

  “Okay, guess you are her date.”

  Sam broke the kiss in time to see Glitter Boy sidling away. Returning his scrutiny to Marabella, he noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the dilation of her pupils. Wariness warred with the equally fierce need burning in the pit of his belly. He took a staggering step backward, his heart tripping more than his feet as one word clanged inside his head and raged inside his soul, repelling as much as it beckoned.

  Mine.

  Chapter Seven

  “You shouldn’t have done that.” Her heart galloping out of control, Marabella pressed shaky fingers to her swollen lips. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

  Samael’s dark, fire-filled stare remained riveted on her mouth. “You left me no choice. You were about to rat me out.” An edge of anger lent steel to his voice. She got the feeling he wasn’t pleased with what had just gone down.

  That made two of them. As for ratting him out, she most certainly hadn’t been on the verge of doing any such thing. But it was probably wise not to let him know that. Bottom line, she wanted to get him far away from here before something truly horrible happened, like him being discovered and all hell breaking loose. If letting him believe she intended to reveal his identity ultimately served her goal, so be it. “You have to leave. Now.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Or?”

  “I’ll see to it you’re thrown out.” She prayed the bravado she’d forced masked the underlying tremor in her voice.

  Samael’s intense, calculating gaze continued to prod at her, making her nervous. “No, you won’t. Know why?” He took a stealthy step toward her and leaned his head close to hers, their lips a mere hairsbreadth away. “Because if you truly know what I am—what I’m capable of—you realize what a damn-fool mistake that would be.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Is that a threat?”

  “Try me and find out.”

  She shivered at the silkiness of his tone. Although he certainly hadn’t intended it that way, his words took on an entirely different meaning as she imagined sliding his shirt off and tracing the network of scars on his broad, sleek shoulders and chest with her tongue.

  She shook her head, desperate to corral her thoughts back on track. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Hmm.” His knuckles skimmed the side of her neck. “Then why is your pulse speeding so frantically?” His focus drifted to her mouth again. “Or maybe the cause for that is something else. Something much more exciting.”

  She licked her lips, and his gaze became hooded. Sultry. Her damn traitorous nipples tightened. “I—I mean it. I want you to leave.”

  “Not until I get what I came for.”

  “But…there’s nothing here for you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, sweet little Bella.”

  The only person who’d ever called her by the shortened version of her name had been her first-grade teacher, Mrs. Davies. But the velvety way Sam said it was infinitely sexier. His face inched closer, filling her frame of vision. She stared at the beard scruff shadowing his chin and jaw, remembering the delicious rasp of it on her skin while he’d kissed her, and wondered what it’d feel like on other parts of her body. No, she definitely didn’t need that thought in her head, damn it.

  “What do you want?”

  Those skillful, tempting lips crooked upward. “To get laid.”

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  “But…why?”

  He chuckled, the sound dark and smoky, just like him. “Because I’m horny.”

  Heat crawled beneath her skin. “I figured that part out. What I don’t get is why in the world you would seek out someone here.”

  “Variety is the spice of life.”

  The teasing way he was looking at her was just as distracting as the nearness of his mouth. She swallowed. “So you’re saying if you find a willing bed partner, you’ll leave?”

  “Why? Are you putting yourself on the offering block, sweet Bella?”

  The thundering of her heart was so loud she feared he’d be able to hear it. Could she actually go along with this insane proposal? Of course, the curse meant she really wouldn’t have to go along with it at all. But Samael didn’t need to know that. As long as he thought he was going to get lucky, she’d be able to get him away from the mansion and potential chaos.

  This could work. Keeping her expression bland to hide her inner triumph, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it then.”

  His devious grin slipped. “What?”

  “You want to get laid? Fine. I’m your girl.”

  Eyes narrowing, he stared at her for a long moment as if she were yanking his chain. “You’d honestly sleep with me just to get me to leave?”

  “Yes.” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie.

  A considering gleam dancing in his irises, he moved back, granting her some much-needed space. “If that’s the case, then we can go upstairs right now.”

  She gaped at him. “Are you nuts? I’m not
sleeping with you here.”

  “How convenient.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  One of his dark eyebrows cocked upward in challenge. “Like I don’t know you intend to ditch me the minute we step outside.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got some serious trust issues.”

  “Hell, darlin’. You don’t know the half of it.”

  She tossed her arms up. “Look, we’ll compromise then. You come with me in my car, but this is going down on my turf, capisce?”

  Wickedness once again flashed across his features. “Don’t worry your pretty head over that. I sure as hell plan on going down on your lovely turf. Probably all night long, so prepare yourself.”

  It took a second for his meaning to register. Once it did, a persistent throb shuttled through her clit. She squeezed her thighs together, praying he wouldn’t notice. “Must you be so crude?”

  “Yes. Get used to it. You’re going to hear me saying a lot worse than that tonight.”

  His sinful promise was enough to make her panties uncomfortably damp. She bit the inside of her cheek and discreetly shuffled her feet. “Does that mean you accept my offer?”

  “On one condition.”

  The notion of giving him any wiggle room in this negotiation made her nervous, but what could she do? She didn’t want to risk him calling it off. Besides, did it make a difference? It’s not like she’d have to go through with the ultimate deed. “W-what?”

  “I get carte blanche to do any damn thing I want to you.”

  She gulped. Oh goddess. What have I gotten myself into? That thought continued to spiral in an endless loop through her mind as Samael escorted her from the ballroom. It didn’t help that he insisted on keeping her plastered to his side the whole time. No doubt that was his way of ensuring she wouldn’t make a dash for it, but his nearness wasn’t calming her racing nerves. Or squelching her libido. With each step they took, his palm rode lower on her back. When he dipped dangerously close to cupping her butt cheek, she almost jumped out of her skin. She was on the verge of giving him a whack upside the head for his heavy-handed groping when she recalled the charade she was playing at. It would certainly rouse his suspicions if she corrected his behavior when they were supposedly on their way to an illicit rendezvous. Giving a silent grumble, she balled her fists and quickened her pace.