by Jo Carlisle
This was not a typical woman.
“Why do I get the feeling you already know the reason?”
The witch leaned against the doorjamb, a catlike smile curving her full lips as she eyed him from head to toe. She had alluring pale skin and long, dark hair flowing around her shoulders. With her willowy body hugged by low-slung, slashed jeans and a minuscule halter top with no bra underneath to hide her pert breasts, she looked like she belonged in a biker bar. Or in his bed, wearing nothing but that naughty smile while his cock was buried in her pussy.
Unfortunately, if the rumors and accusations were true, the book didn’t match the cover. He’d seen her in the city, hanging around the Council meetings that were open to the public, but studying her up close, actually speaking with her, provided a deeper perspective. There was no denying she was beautiful, but her lovely face was a cool mask, dark eyes flat and calculating, devoid of warmth. Absent of a soul.
Soren wondered if she had a dalmatian coat hidden in her closet.
“Come in if you want my help. Makes no difference to me.”
With a smirk, she turned and disappeared into the modest cabin, leaving them to stare after her.
“Soren,” Luc hissed, grabbing his upper arm. “Forget this and let’s just get the fuck out of here.”
“You know I can’t do that.” Firmly, he removed Luc’s hand from his arm and shook his head. “Not if there’s a chance.”
“Priestess Benoit said getting Helena back wasn’t possible,” his brother reminded him, worry clouding his blue eyes. He ran a hand through his short, spiky blond hair in frustration. “Not the way you remember her, and not without paying a terrible price. You should heed the woman’s warning. Dammit, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
So did Soren. Still, if there was any way at all . . .
“Wait at the boat if you want. I’ll be fine.” Ducking inside, he left Luc to follow him—or not. A few strides took him directly into a modest living area that boasted a battered green sofa, worn chair, and tatty rugs. The room was dimly lit by a multitude of candles cluttering every available surface. Beaded curtains hung over the two entryways on either side of the room, and Soren headed toward the one that was still swinging, the small, colored orbs clattering together.
Footsteps thudded behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Luc on his heels. Ever Soren’s shadow. His staunchest ally, save Aldric, despite their differences. Suddenly Soren wished they’d waited for their big, badass older brother to accompany them.
A short hallway led to two rooms. One door was open and he picked that one, halting just inside to study their surroundings. This dark workroom was much the same as the others they’d seen, packed with bottles of unknown liquids, bowls, beads, dolls, cloth, large straight pins, and an assortment of various items he couldn’t name. The priestess moved about a long table, comfortable in her element, placing a wide wooden bowl full of liquid in the center.
A rich, familiar scent touched Soren’s nose, and a pang of hunger cramped his stomach as his mouth watered. Blood. Not human, and not his first choice. What the hell was she doing with a bowl of animal blood? And how had she acquired it? Whatever the answers, need pooled in his gut, throbbed in his groin.
Perching on a stool, she looked up and gestured to a pair of seats across the table. “Most people see me for love potions or spells. Occasionally a client will have me scry the future or spy on someone, or will even buy a spell or talisman that will allow him a tiny bit of revenge against the one who has it coming.”
Frustration coupled with the rising need for food and sex made for poor companions at the bargaining table, and he fought to control them. “I’m not most people, as you know,” he said shortly, taking his seat. “I’m not here for your cheap parlor tricks.”
Her eyes flared and she laughed. “Oh yes. Nothing simple for you, I’ve heard. Bringing back the dead is difficult and costly business—if you can afford to pay.”
So the bitch did know the exact reason for his visit. He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “I can handle your price, whatever it might be. That is of no importance to me.” Glancing at Luc, he caught his brother’s grim expression and barely perceptible shake of his head. Thankfully, his sibling kept a lid on voicing more disapproval. For now.
Leaning forward, she rested her arms on the table, giving him a perfect view down her top to the swell of her small breasts. “Any price?”
“Name it.”
The witch fell silent for a moment, studying him thoughtfully. A long red fingernail tap-tapping on the surface of the table was the only sound in the room. Annoying, as well, which she probably knew. They regarded each other openly, two players across a macabre chessboard. Winner take all. “First, tell me about the one you wish to return.”
“My mate’s name was Helena,” he said quietly. “She died more than one hundred years ago from wounds sustained in a demon attack. She passed before I could turn her. I want you to bring her back to me.”
Saints, the pain of her loss was just as excruciating now as it was a century ago. He and his brothers had returned home to La Petite Mort from a long Council session to find their lands ravaged, the servants and Chosen dead, and Helena lying helpless in his bed, weak from blood loss and consumed with sickness from the demon’s bite. Crazed with grief upon her passing, he had almost fallen on his sword. Aldric had stopped him. Kept him in silver chains for days while Soren raged like a lunatic.
“A demon attack,” she mused. “Unfortunate.” Another lengthy silence as the witch stared at him. Then, “I don’t know if I can help you.”
And so the game begins.
“I thought you might possess the skills necessary to assist me.” He started to rise. “Since I’m wasting my time—”
“I didn’t say for certain that I couldn’t,” she countered. “Do you really want to throw away your last chance so easily?”
She was toying with him, and he couldn’t fucking stand it. He longed to reach across the table and throttle her, but didn’t dare. Slowly, he lowered his ass onto the stool again and willed himself to settle down. She had the advantage, and they all knew it.
“Name. Your. Price.”
Pinning him with those fathomless eyes, the witch continued in a silky voice. “You said I could have anything at all. Remember?”
“Yes, but . . .” Dread squeezed his heart, and he fought to keep the emotion off his face. “That wasn’t an open-ended offer of payment. Tell me what you want specifically.”
Her smile was predatory. “Only what you promised—anything at all. So we’ll start with you acquiring me a seat on the Council.”
Mercenary bitch! He should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as opening his wallet.
“Done.”
“Soren,” Luc said sharply. “You can’t promise that. Only Aldric can, and he’ll never agree.”
“I can and I did,” he replied grimly. “What else?”
“You’ll take me back with you to live at La Petite Mort, where I’ll reside in complete comfort, and you’ll see that my every need or desire is satisfied.” The heat in her gaze, the spicy scent of her arousal, left no doubt as to what those needs and desires entailed.
His cock hardened and he bit back a groan. That was a simple promise to make; Soren would enjoy fucking the witch. For all her gentleness, Helena had understood the dark needs of vampires, Soren and his brothers in particular. While she hadn’t participated in the resort’s debauchery and had no desire to do so, neither had she objected. She’d loved him just as the gods—or, rather, fate—had made him, had accepted the Chosen warming his bed during feedings, not to mention his duties as a host, which included making their guests’ sexual fantasies come true.
Soren could enjoy the witch’s luscious body and keep an eye on her more dubious activities—while having his heart’s desire. It was a perfect solution.
“Also done,” he said. “You’ll return with us tonight.”
“As your mate
.”
The softly spoken words froze the blood in his veins. Stunned, he stared at Leila as the implications washed over him. “What? You’re fucking crazy!” he shouted, bolting to his feet. “No way in hell am I going to take you as my mate!”
“You did say you would give anything to have your Helena back.” She shrugged. “But if you don’t wish for her to be returned to the loving family fold, you may leave. No harm done.”
Helpless fury nearly stole his speech. “The whole purpose of the bargain is to have my mate returned to me,” he managed, fists clenched. “My true mate.”
But as she smirked at him, he understood. Leila had her reasons, and she wasn’t going to share them until it suited her.
“Brother,” Luc cut in, laying a hand on Soren’s shoulder. “No one can force a mating bond on a vampire, not even the most powerful witch or sorcerer, who are only humans with special abilities. Humans can’t affect us that way. She knows this.” He sent a glare in her direction for emphasis.
Again, the schemer didn’t appear fazed in the least. “So? The only two parties who can sense the bond are the vampire in question and his ‘mate.’ When Soren introduces me as his mate, who’s to say differently?”
Was she insane? “My true mate will know,” Soren pointed out. “She might not recognize it at first, but eventually she’ll figure out the truth and—Wait. You don’t care. You just want to hurt her by flaunting our relationship in her face, right? If that’s your game, I’m not playing.”
“How shortsighted of you to believe I’d care about your lady love’s feelings one way or the other. That’s not what this is about.”
No, it was about a power play for some higher purpose he’d learn in time. But he wasn’t fooled into thinking she wouldn’t enjoy every second of the havoc she’d cause along the way.
A realization hit him: backing out of their bargain wasn’t an option. He had to pretend to be Leila’s mate, find out what the witch was after—beyond gaining a Council seat and a cushy life at the resort as his mate—and stop her cold.
“How long would this arrangement between us be in effect? A few weeks? Months?”
Dark eyes glittered. “Why, as long as I wish—until I tire of you, of course.”
His heart sank. That could be decades.
But wait—not forever, because Leila was human. Eventually, she’d grow old and die. So would his true love, of course, unless he turned her, which he would be sure to do this time. One day, he’d be free of Leila, their arrangement ended.
But waiting for the natural end of Leila’s mortal life was a worst-case scenario. With any luck, he’d quickly learn what she was up to and bring it to the Council’s attention. Then he wouldn’t be bound to honor their bargain.
“I will not turn you,” he stipulated. “Nor will you seek another vampire to do the deed in order to make yourself immortal.”
“Agreed.”
Far too easy. What’s your game, you bitch?
Swallowing his anger, trepidation, and a great deal of pride, he nodded. “We have a bargain, then. You’ll have your Council seat. While you live, you’ll do so as my mate and enjoy every comfort I can provide.”
“You will do my bidding.”
“Yes,” he rasped.
Luc cursed and pushed from the table. “I’ll be outside.” Shooting Soren a pissed-off glare, he stalked out.
Gods, how that grated. Soren bowed to no one, male or female. Ever. And he’d just sold his body and soul to the witch for the duration of her human lifetime.
For Helena. You can’t forget that.
“Come here, my sexy vampire. You did just agree to give me whatever I wanted, and I want you. Now.” Rising, she stepped away from the table and grasped the hem of her halter top. Slowly, she pulled the material up over her head and dropped it negligently to the floor. Her eyes locked with his. She cupped her breasts and rolled the dusky nipples between her fingers, teasing them to points.
Against his will he stood, skirted the table, and went to her. He didn’t want any part of the witch, but his traitorous body disagreed. His nerve endings began to hum, and the familiar heat spread through his veins. His cock began to fill and his fangs lengthened in anticipation of the feast being unveiled before him.
Her hands moved downward, sliding over her taut belly to the button on her jeans. Deftly, she parted the denim and pushed it past her hips, revealing smooth, pale skin and a triangle of dark hair between toned thighs. She stepped out of the jeans and kicked them aside.
“Hungry?” Amusement colored her husky voice. “I’ve got what you crave, vampire lord. Come here.”
Fear wasn’t a companion he was used to, and hadn’t been for as long as he could recall. But since he’d walked into the witch’s lair, he’d felt a growing sense of doom mixed with an unhealthy dose of lust. Was it merely Luc’s trepidation affecting him? Or was this how she had lured the Fae male to his death? With the dark allure of her sweet body, promising heaven and delivering hell?
He walked to her, chafing at following orders from her or anyone yet helpless to do otherwise. A deal was a deal, and he was a vampire of his word, even if he couldn’t say the same of the priestess. As he stopped in front of her, she reached up and ran her fingers through the fall of his long hair. The witch’s touch both attracted and repulsed him, leaving him confused.
“On your knees,” she commanded.
One part of him wasn’t the least bit hesitant, and it stiffened between his legs, eager and leaking pre-cum. Stifling a growl of irritation, he knelt at her feet, supplicating himself like one of his own damned servants. But I agreed to this, he reminded himself. Whatever it took to achieve his goal.
Her fingers slid to his face, caressed his cheek, and he was surprised at the coldness of her skin. He couldn’t help but shiver as she raked a nail down his cheek and underneath his jaw . . . and then mimicked the action of slicing his jugular. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
“Pleasure me.”
Her mocking tone spoke volumes. She sensed his distaste but knew he couldn’t help but obey, and she reveled in her power over him. The decades ahead of him loomed like a vast ocean, and he knew that in time, he’d hate the witch. Balls, he resented her already.
Still, the pungent fragrance of her sex called to him, and he skimmed her thighs with his palms. Leaned in to nuzzle the moist mound between her legs. Probed the protective folds with his tongue to taste her essence. The rest of her skin was ice, but her cunt was silken fire, like hot chocolate and cherries, delicious and creamy. And something else almost masked by the dual flavors, a spicy hint of something he couldn’t name. It didn’t have a certain taste so much as a zing that went straight to his head, rushed through his veins just like he imagined a designer drug would. Alcohol was the only substance that gave him the slightest buzz, and that limited effect was nothing like this.
His favored whiskey could never pack such a sinister punch.
Unease skittered through him, quickly overtaken by his body’s baser urges. The predator in him wanted satisfaction now. He ate her slit hungrily, hardly aware of her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to sting. He relished the slight pain and lapped at the juices teasing his tongue, fucking her channel until she moaned. She melted a bit, relaxing against him, urging him on.
The change in her was subtle, but the tide was gradually turning in his favor. She was putty in his hands now, trembling with need. This, at least, was familiar territory—Soren taking control and his lovers becoming slaves to their own desires, giving him everything they’d intended to take.
Confidence restored, he stood and turned her to face the table. “Brace your hands on the surface and spread those pretty legs for me, witch. There you go. Bend over a bit.”
She maneuvered into position, ass poking out, pouty sex slick from his attentions and begging for more. Quickly, he freed his aching cock from his jeans and gave the hard length a few strokes, knowing he wouldn’t last long despite
his earlier session with the Chosen. Vampires were insatiable and had quick recovery periods between bouts of sex, which was either a blessing or a curse, depending on his mood and the situation.
At the moment, he was leaning toward curse.
He brought the head of his cock to her opening and pushed inside, hissing at the glorious feeling of her pussy clasping his rod, squeezing like a tight glove. When he was fully seated, he had to pause for a few seconds or risk spilling too soon.
And immediately he berated himself for wanting to draw out their intimate contact. He had to keep his bargain, but the cunning manipulator didn’t deserve his tenderness.
“Fuck me hard, damn you!” she shouted, reaching around to grab his ass.
Neither did she require sweet nothings, it seemed. Fine. Pumping fast, he pounded into her cunt without mercy, smiling a little at her fierce swearing. Obviously she liked it rough, which suited him.
“Bite me!” she cried. “Drink me! Do it now!”
The predator in him rejoiced, and he struck without a second thought. Dark delight flowed over his tongue, the same rich flavor as her pussy juices but a thousand times more intoxicating. The release that had been boiling in his balls exploded and he came deep inside her, cock spasming again and again. Leila screamed with the force of her own orgasm as he drank, her channel milking him of every drop.
When the waves subsided, he withdrew his fangs and collapsed onto her back, panting with exertion. His vision was doubled, his brain fuzzy with an incredible high. A very real high, not a metaphorical one. His mind felt weird. Altered. Already he craved more of her blood.
It was then that he realized a black thread was making its way through his veins, slowly connecting him to the witch. A tangible bond that pulsed with sickening life, demanding that he feed again. Mother of all the gods, what’s happening?
“What have you done to me?” he rasped.
She chuckled, low and satisfied. “I merely took what you offered.”
The chill of her skin penetrated his awareness once more and this time bled into his very being, as well. Slipping out of her, he spun her to face him and dug his fingers into her shoulders. “What are you?”
