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

by Jodi Redford

  Jeez. Who knew the reaper world was so high tech?

  Cass transferred her gaze to Sam. “Nik and I have devised a plan that’ll hopefully throw Pricilla and her men off for a while. Hal Maybury is about the same height and build as you. Once a night, we’ll have him take your car for a spin and give the goons something to occupy their time.”

  “Isn’t Hal Maybury that bozo who has a crush on you?” Sam scowled. “Why the hell would I grant him access to my ride?”

  “Who would you rather have? Hal or Nik?”

  Sam eyed Nikki and received her syrupy smile. “Hal it is.”

  “Now we’ve gotten that straightened out…” Cass looked at Nikki expectantly. “Are you able to get anything off of Marabella?”

  Frown lines scrunched above the bridge of Nikki’s nose. “Nope, absolutely nada.”

  Cass sighed. “I was afraid that’d be the case.”

  The reminder about the block returned Marabella’s earlier paranoia to the forefront. It was unnerving to know someone out there didn’t want her soulprint read. What the heck could be so important it needed to be kept secret? Her worries had her mind so preoccupied, she jumped when Cass touched her shoulder.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. But I was wondering if there’s any way I could meet either of your parents? Or maybe you could at least get me close enough to try and read them? Assuming I can, there might be a clue there to help us out.”

  “My father died before I was born. And my mother…” Oh goddess, there was a nightmare if Domino became suspicious of why a grim reaper wanted to read her soul. “She wouldn’t actually have to know what you’re doing, right?”

  “No.” Cass’s expression turned wry. “And honestly, it’s usually less disconcerting for folks if they don’t know what I am.”

  “In that case, I was planning to stop by the Alliance headquarters tomorrow morning and drop off a design bid to Domino—my mom. You can tag along, if you want. I’ll just tell her you’re a friend.”

  Cass nodded. “Excellent. With any luck, we’ll be one step closer to having all of this figured out.”

  “Speaking of figuring things out, with the insanity of the past several days I completely forgot about the soul Pricilla wanted me to hunt down.”

  Sam’s statement drew both of his cousin’s gazes to him like a tractor beam, but Cass was the first to speak. “What soul?”

  “She didn’t give me a name. Just coordinates.”

  “To?” Nikki prodded.

  “The restricted zone of the Death Wards.”

  A low whistle shot from Nikki. “Man, this is getting more and more loaded with knee-deep what-the-fuckery by the second.”

  Marabella chewed her bottom lip before asking the most prominent question swirling around in her brain. “Um, what exactly are Death Wards?”

  “Believe it or not, there are souls that even Hell won’t take,” Sam answered. “Or in some cases, a particularly valuable spirit requires high surveillance and the steady force of armed guards provided by the Death Wards.”

  “Why? Because the spirits might escape?”

  “No, more like because someone might try to break in and steal them.”

  She gulped. Suddenly Sam’s former title took on a whole new meaning. “You mean someone like you? A soul collector?”

  Sam remained quiet, allowing her to fill in the blanks. She couldn’t fathom the darkness of the world he’d inhabited. Stealing souls? It was so…twisted and evil. She attempted to suppress a shiver and in the process locked gazes with Sam. His grim expression hinted that he was more than aware of the direction of her thoughts. It would have been easier to condemn him for the role he’d played in stealing people’s souls, ending their lives. Because then she could despise him. But in essence, he’d been doing the bidding of others. Cass had stated that disobedience from a soul collector could ultimately result in that soul collector’s death. Sam would have been putting his life on the line every time he went against his master.

  She didn’t want to see him as anything other than a cold-blooded killer, but the glaring evidence was staring her in the face. They hadn’t given him any choice.

  “Do you by any chance remember what the coordinates were?” Cass asked, breaking though Marabella’s glum musings.

  “Pricilla wrote them down. I think I stuffed the paper in the pocket of my leather jacket.”

  “I’ll take a look at it and see what I can dig up.” Cass sidled next to Nikki. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

  “But we just got—” Before the words finished exiting Nikki’s mouth, both she and Cass vanished.

  Marabella turned her head and caught Sam watching her. It hit her that they were officially alone. Again. Well, she couldn’t exactly spend all night staring at him like an idiot. Her stomach chose that unfortunate moment to grumble, reminding her it’d been several hours since she’d last eaten. Dinner. That was something she could occupy herself with. “A-are you hungry?”

  “Why? What are you offering, sweet Bella?”

  Do not let my mind go there. Of course it refused to obey. Attempting to mentally will away the image of Sam licking mounds of whipped cream from her naked body, she waved toward the entryway behind her. “I could make us a salad with the leftover salmon I brought home last night.” Not waiting for him to answer, she kicked off her high heels and hurried into the kitchen. After tying on an apron to protect her outfit from accidental spills or splatters, she removed the items she’d need from the fridge and spread them out on the counter. “I made a jug of sweet tea yesterday. Sorry, it’s about the best I can offer.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  The nearness of Sam’s husky baritone made her jerk. Silently chastising herself for being so jumpy, she yanked open the cupboard door and stood on her tiptoes to reach the fancier glasses. The heat of Sam’s body caged her in from behind.

  “Here, let me get those.” Rather than step back so she could wiggle sideways and give him more room, he pressed into her, the hard ridge of his erection nudging the base of her spine. Liquid desire shimmered through her, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud. A part of her fully expected Sam to whirl her around in his arms and slam his mouth over hers before lifting her onto the counter and devouring every inch of her. Instead, he reached above her head and snagged two glasses, which he promptly plunked in front of her.

  Desperately trying to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed at not being ravished, she slid him a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

  He moved away from her and scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “You had salmon for dinner last night?”

  She nodded. “But it’s almost as good as fresh.”

  “Did you eat it by yourself?”

  It took several befuddled moments before his meaning became clear. “Are you asking if I was on a date?”

  He scowled. “Why the hell would I care if you were on a date?”

  “Um, because basically that’s what you were digging for.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  She plopped her hands on her hips. “Why can’t you admit you’re dying to know if I was on a date?”

  He tossed up his arms. “Are all witches batshit crazy and delusional, or just you?” Growling, he pivoted on his heel and stalked from the kitchen.

  A smile tickling her lips, she pondered his question. Considering how happy the possibility of him being jealous made her, she’d say yes, she was definitely batshit crazy.

  During the middle of scarfing down Marabella’s impromptu salmon salad, Sam reluctantly acknowledged that the meal was pretty damn tasty—whether some nameless dickhead may or may not have paid for part of it. Unlike what Marabella assumed, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if she had dinner with half the state of Georgia and boinked them afterwards.

  Okay, maybe he cared a little bit. He’d been her first, and to be honest, the idea of anyone else being her second didn’t set well on him, no matter how much he wanted
to deny it.

  “You’re being awfully quiet.”

  He finished chewing his bite of salad before answering. “My mama always insisted it’s rude to talk while eating.”

  Marabella nibbled a sliver of salmon from her fork. “What’s your mother like?”

  “Hell if I know. She dumped me on my dad’s doorstep practically the second I popped from her womb.”

  “Then how—?” She blushed. “Oh, you were only kidding about talking with your mouth full.”

  “Shit, that’s no joking matter. People choke to death on arugula every day. It’s damn near epidemic.”

  She gaped at him for a long moment before laughing. The sweet, girlish sound tripped along his spine, provoking pleasurable tingles. His grin broke free before he could corral it.

  Her mirth fading, Marabella stared at him in wonder. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled like that.”

  “Like what?”

  She tapped the tines of her fork against her lips. “Like you’re almost happy.”

  Happy? No, that was impossible. He didn’t do happy anymore. Easier not to be disappointed when the inevitable shit started piling knee-deep.

  “So you were raised by your father? The opposite of me.”

  “Yeah. The old man pretty much taught me everything I know about being a soul collector.”

  Marabella lowered her fork and pushed around the greens on her plate. “So he’s a soul collector too?”

  “Was. He died several years back.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. That must have been rough for you.”

  The compassion in Marabella’s eyes left him with an odd and unfamiliar sense of vulnerability. He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him. Yeah, Cass and Nikki had always been there for him in ways no one else was, but there was a soft gentleness to Marabella that called to him on an elemental level he’d never experienced. She exuded so much light and sweetness, he wanted to dive into her until he was thoroughly drunk on all that sunshine.

  She’s not for you. Over time, you’d take every ray of her inner light and twist it into something ugly and black. The voice in his head might have been taunting, but it spoke the devil’s truth. His darkness was no haven for someone like Marabella. That reminder hung like a two-ton elephant over his head during the remainder of their meal.

  When it became clear the strained silence that’d descended on them wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon, Marabella straightened from her seat and gathered the dishes from the small dining table. “I don’t have anything in the way of dessert, but maybe later we can watch a movie and I’ll nuke popcorn.”

  He wanted to point out that this wasn’t some cozy date, but she looked so damn hopeful, he didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Soon enough she’d remember what a son of a bitch he was. Might as well enjoy this façade of getting along while it lasted. “Sure. Why the hell not.”

  Her smile dazzling, Marabella gathered their plates and carried them to the sink. “I’ll take care of everything in here if you want to go pick a movie. All of the DVDs are in the rack by the TV.”

  He nodded and scraped his chair back. In the living room, he found her stash of movies. A quick rifle through them verified his worst nightmare. All chick flicks. Shit. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d slip into a spontaneous coma before the opening credits finished rolling. He settled on what he hoped was the least horrible of the bunch and straightened.

  Marabella walked into the room. She’d removed the apron, awarding him a generous sighting of the ample cleavage that’d tormented him for the past six hours. “Did you find one?”

  Somehow he tore his gaze from her breasts. “What?”

  “A movie?”

  He suddenly recalled the disc in his hand. Feeling immensely slow on the uptake, he held it out for her inspection.

  “Oh, Dirty Dancing. That’s a good one.” Taking the movie from him, she stooped and flicked on the DVD player. Her hair tumbled in a soft cascade over one shoulder, exposing the vulnerable arch of her neck. He stared at her pale flesh, overcome by the fierce desire to sink his teeth into that tender spot while he pinned her to the floor and fucked her from behind. Hard and deep. Like a mindless animal intent on conquering its mate. Or a demon claiming his moyet.

  Fuck. There was that damn word again. Moyet. He didn’t believe in that bullshit. Sure as hell didn’t need the complications that came along with that line of thinking.

  Tunneling a hand through his hair, he crossed to the oversized leather chair and took a seat. He didn’t trust himself on the couch with Marabella. His decision to keep his distance became reinforced when she dimmed the lights and snuggled on the end of the couch nearest him. Even though she modestly tucked her skirt beneath her, every time she moved, he caught a flash of her creamy thigh. Three quarters into the movie, he had no idea what the plot was, or if there even was one. There seemed to be a lot of dancing, though, for some reason. Hence the title, no doubt. Regardless, his mind had become fixated on Marabella’s legs. Particularly the spot right behind her knees. He imagined nibbling and licking it.

  Okay, he imagined nibbling and licking a lot more than the backs of her knees. His overactive imagination wandered into the vivid fantasyland of rucking her skirt up around her hips and burying his mouth in her pussy. He knew from their night together that she enjoyed being eaten out, even if she didn’t necessarily want to like it.

  Correction, she probably just didn’t want to like it with him. The recollection of how she’d gasped his name while her clit pulsed beneath his tongue shot a thrill through him, as well as a spike of hunger. Making her come despite the resistance she’d valiantly tried to cling to—it’d been fucking tantalizing. Then and now. Unlike others of his ilk, he’d never felt the need to take something that wasn’t freely offered to him, but he’d be lying if he said Marabella’s sweet capitulation hadn’t stoked his inner satyr.

  Shit. Maybe he was looking at this the wrong way. Why deny the natural sexual chemistry between them? It’d only condemn him to a constant hard-on. They could fuck each other’s brains out and leave it at that. It might even kill his obsession with her once and for all.

  He slid a glance toward her and noticed she was sniffling. Aw hell. He’d been cock-blocked by a damn chick flick. Shifting his focus to the TV screen, he attempted to deduce what sappiness had her all misty-eyed, but damn if he could figure it out. In the movie, the big guy who apparently liked to dance a lot—but redeemed himself by driving a ’57 Chevy—said something about not putting Baby in a corner before dragging his girlfriend away from the table. From the looks of things, they were going to dance again.

  Bloody fuck. Who danced this much? It was abnormal.

  Marabella blotted her eyes with a tissue and gave another sniffly sigh. “Now that’s true love.”

  “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

  She jerked her head and blinked at him like she’d forgotten he was there. “Sorry?”

  “It’s a movie, babe. Nothing real or true about it.”

  A frown wrinkled her brow. “Just because it’s a movie doesn’t mean there’s not some truth in it. Despite the odds stacked against him, Johnny came back for Baby. Because he loves her. And love happens to be a real emotion, you know.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  Sadness flickered in Marabella’s eyes. “You don’t think love is possible?”

  “Not in the way you do.” He waved his hand toward the TV. “Not how it’s portrayed by Hollyweird.”

  She crumpled the tissue in her palm. “Then what kind of love do you believe in?”

  The kind that wouldn’t bite him in the ass. That wouldn’t leave him vulnerable enough to do something he’d regret later. He’d learned a long time ago that emotions could be the biggest weapons used against a person. A smart man never let his enemy know he gave a damn about anything or anyone.

  “You really want to know what I believe in, sweet Bella?” He pushed up from the chair and stalked toward the couch.
Her eyes widening, Marabella slunk deeper into the cushions as if she were hoping to melt into them and thereby escape.

  As if there was any chance in hell of that happening. He’d been tormenting himself with the memory of her all day and half the night. His senses reeled from the intoxicating proximity of her. If he didn’t touch her—right this instant—he’d fucking self-combust. Planting his knees on either side of hers, he hiked up her skirt and slid his hand inside her panties. She gasped, but he barely registered the sound as silken heat met his fingers.

  Locking their gazes, he coasted along her labia. Satisfaction burned in his gut when her folds immediately slickened for him. “This is what I believe in. Sex, and the indisputable truth your body is telling me right now.”

  “I-it’s not telling you anything.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s making it crystal clear how much you want me.”

  He expected her to deny it, or come up with some ridiculous lie that’d be in direct opposition to the damnable proof of her wetness coating his fingers. Instead she took a shaky breath and nodded. “You’re right. I—I do want you.” Her lips trembled. “I wish with every beat of my heart that I didn’t though.”

  “That makes two of us, babe.” He found her entrance and eased a finger inside. Snug, wet warmth surrounded him, and he clenched his jaw. “Do you remember the feel of my cock buried inside you?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice wispy.

  “I remember the feel of you coming, all of your tiny cunt muscles milking my cock.”

  “Sam.” Despite her scandalized retort, a tremor rippled through the velvety flesh hugging his finger.

  He offered her a wicked grin. “Which excited you more? Me talking about you coming, or using the word cunt?”

  She blushed. He found it adorable that she could, considering her legs were spread for him while he finger-fucked her pussy. Her mixture of innocence and wantonness was the kerosene to his fire. Lowering his head, he ravished her mouth, his tongue plunging past her lips in perfect mimicry of his finger delving within her soaked channel. He caught her ragged moan and chased it with his own. Her nails raked through his hair, grazed his scalp. The light sting spurred him on. He added another finger along with the one already inside her and pumped the pair a few times before removing them and ripping her panties off.