The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne)

by Lori Devoti

  Joarr glanced around. He didn’t see the dwarf now. There were a few shadows behind the bar and cowering behind the stalagmites. “If he’s here, he’s hiding,” he replied.

  “He’s seen us now. There’s no hiding who we are.”

  Joarr shrugged. He didn’t care about the dwarf or the chalice right then; he only cared about Amma. He walked toward the exit.

  * * *

  Back at the hotel, Amma and Joarr didn’t bother with words; words were unnecessary and might bring up issues Amma didn’t want to deal with. Instead as soon as the door closed behind them they began undressing each other slowly…lovingly. Their affair might be temporary, but while it lasted, Amma had decided to participate in it fully—emotionally and physically.

  They sat on the bed. Amma knelt with her bare feet tucked under her butt. Joarr sat beside her, his body twisted so one foot was on the floor and the other was curled under him, but his torso was facing her.

  Joarr pushed Amma’s blouse up over her head first. She let it fall onto the bed beside them and shook out her hair. The muscles of her shoulders and neck were tight, as if she was still holding the tension she’d felt while standing on that board considering how far she had to fall. She rolled her head to one side and then the other, her hair brushing over her back as she did.

  Joarr watched, but said nothing, didn’t make a move to hurry her, either.

  Her hands on her thighs, she arched her back and stretched again. Her breasts pushed together, threatened to spill out of her lacy bra. Joarr’s attention focused on them; she could feel anticipation building inside him.

  She rolled her neck again, took her time enjoying the blue blaze of his eyes. Then her head back upright, she leaned forward and tugged his shirt up and off. She ran her palms over his chest. His skin was smooth and warm; the muscle beneath couldn’t be missed. She rose on her knees and trailed her tongue down his pectoral muscles. He tasted of smoke, as if he’d been standing beside a wood fire.

  She pulled back, but his hands caught the waist of her jeans. He slipped the button free, and pulled down the zipper. Her panties, what there was of them, matched her bra. He tugged the denim down her hips; she wiggled, willing them to fall lower. He pressed a kiss to her breast and she wrapped her hands around his head, moaned as he used his lips to shove her bra aside and lave his tongue over her nipple.

  She reached for his pants and unhooked them in a quick, easy movement. He helped, jerking them from his body and tossing the expensive wool onto the floor. She shoved him back so he fell against the mattress. Still in her bra and panties, she crawled up his body, her hair hanging over one shoulder, sweeping over his skin.

  He was completely naked now, while she was still somewhat clothed. It made her feel stronger, as if she was in charge. She lowered her butt and brushed the rough lace over his swollen sex. Straddling him, she lowered her mouth back to his chest and nibbled her way down from his pectorals, to his abs…lower still.

  His skin was even warmer now, his heat flowing. She traced her fingers over his shaft, wanted desperately to share their magic, but wouldn’t yet, wouldn’t deny herself the pleasure of being in control. She darted her tongue over him. His fingers curled into the cover beneath him. Her fingers were on his stomach; she felt his abs tighten.

  She laughed and flicked her tongue out again. The taste…smoke and spice. She opened her mouth and slipped her lips over the tip of his shaft, down then back up. Her fingers found his balls. She weighed them lightly then rolled them back and forth as if they were made of crystal.

  His lower back left the mattress.

  She swirled her tongue over his tip, her fingers continuing to caress his sacs.

  He bent forward, placed his hands under her arms and pulled her up flush against his body. Within seconds, she was naked, too, her matching bra and panties tossed on the floor, forgotten.

  Her breasts were heavy, her core wet. She hadn’t realized how much excitement touching him could bring her.

  He thrust a finger inside her; she tightened. He pulled it out and found her nub. He swirled his finger over it. She tensed, her hands against his chest, and cried out. She pulled her legs up, positioning herself to take him inside her.

  She rose up, her weight on her hands, and stared down at him.

  His eyes were alight with blue flames. There was fire inside her, too. She ached with it, burned to let it free.

  He rubbed his sex over hers, finding the place where she so needed him to be.

  Then in one quick plunge of her hips she encased him.

  Fire raced through her. She could feel it pouring through her, couldn’t tell anymore if it was from her or from him. It just was a part of them both.

  Magic roared from her palms into his body; heat swirled around them. It was as if she was inside a tornado of fire and magic. Her skin tingled; sweat beaded on her body and Joarr’s.

  She pulled herself up then shoved herself back down. Joarr’s hands found her breasts; he held her there, massaging and lifting, helping her with the movement of their bodies. Up and down she moved. Her body tightened around his; his hands squeezed her breasts.

  She grabbed his wrists, holding his hands against her while using his strength to increase their pace. Her thighs began to shake, the muscles screaming while her mind screamed for more.

  Panting, she threw back her head. Fire flickered from inside her. Joarr had leaned forward. His mouth on her nipple, he missed the explosion of flame, but must have felt the heat. He looked up and Amma snapped her lips shut.

  Witches didn’t breathe fire. Something was happening—something strange and terrifying.

  His hands moved to cup her butt. His fingers touched her as she moved. A jolt of pleasure shot through her. She gasped, pulling in air instead of shooting it out. No fire. No smoke. She held her breath or tried to.

  He touched her again and her body began to shake, her core to tighten over and over. Spasms of pleasure she couldn’t slow buffeted over her. She wrapped her hands around his head and held him against her, then tilted her head to the ceiling and shot pure, hot fire from her throat.

  Her eyes widened and she felt his head jerk, knew he’d felt the heat.

  Panic replaced pleasure. She tightened her core and let magic flow from deep inside her.

  He tensed. His fingers gripped her hips and he urged her up and back down. The pleasure was back, swirling, as the pressure inside her built. She concentrated this time, kept the fire pounding to an almost uncontrollable force hidden inside her.

  Magic, fire and pleasure. All three grew until her body pulsed, until she thought she would explode. Joarr cried out and pulled her tight against him. She cried out, too, let go just a little, just enough to let her orgasm wash over her and for a tiny bit of tension to leave her body.

  With a sigh, Joarr spooned her body against his, but she couldn’t relax, couldn’t let go of her magic or her fire. Couldn’t risk him realizing she had both.

  He brushed her hair away from her neck, pressed a kiss to her skin and drifted into sleep. But she lay there awake and afraid.

  What was happening to her?

  Chapter 18

  The club was a shambles, but for once Fafnir didn’t mind doing his brother’s grunt work. A rope thrown over his shoulder, he scampered up the scaffolding, looped the ragged end of the rope through one of the pulleys attached to the ceiling and dropped the extra length onto the floor. While there he searched for Regin.

  He wasn’t doing all of this without an expected payoff. His brother had been talking to the dragon’s female. Fafnir needed to know why and about what.

  He could see his brother on the ground yelling at the human help who were cleaning up broken glass. Fafnir’s spy was beside him, as was one of the female dwarves who worked for him. The female dropped her broom and bent over to pick it up. Regin stopped his yelling.

  Smiling, Fafnir grabbed another rope and rappelled his way back to the bar’s floor. His brother and the female had already dis
appeared from sight.

  He picked up the broom the female dwarf had dropped and sauntered over to drop it into a pile of cleaning tools.

  Once he knew why the dragon’s woman was at the club, he would have a better idea of how to bait his trap. And, if the dwarf did her job right, he should have that information very soon.

  * * *

  Joarr awakened to the ring of the phone. Amma was curled on her side on the bed beside him, naked, not even a sheet covering her. He ran his palm down her shoulder and arm, before reaching for the phone.

  The voice on the other end of the line was friendly, but professional. “We have a letter that was left for you at the front desk.”

  “A letter? From whom?”

  The clerk stuttered a bit, then admitted he didn’t know. He had gone into the office and returned to find the note, sealed with sealing wax, sitting on the reception desk.

  After asking for it to be sent up, Joarr hung up the phone.

  Amma rolled over. There were dark smudges under her eyes. Joarr brushed his lips over hers.

  “It appears we have another contact.”

  She didn’t reply, just pulled the sheet over her breasts and pushed herself to sit against the headboard. There was a distance in her eyes he hadn’t noticed before, and something else… Fear.

  He reached out to touch her, but she turned her head, then slid off the bed and headed toward the bathroom.

  As the door clicked shut behind her, he curled his fingers back into his palms.

  What had happened? The sex had been great, better than great. She’d shared her magic again; he could still feel it roaring through him, making him feel strong and alive. He’d thought she’d felt it, too, for a bit even imagined fire had escaped from her throat.

  No beings except dragons harbored fire inside themselves.

  There was a knock on the door. Pushing aside his wayward thoughts, he pulled on his pants, then went and answered it.

  The note the bellman handed him was just like the first one—same paper, same plain envelope.

  After tipping the hotel employee he closed the door and slipped his thumbnail under the seal.

  Another invitation, to another bar, but this time in the middle of the day. He glanced at the clock that sat beside the bed. There was only an hour before the meeting. If he was going to make the appointment without shifting and flying, he would have to leave now.

  He tapped the edge of the envelope against his palm and stared at the still-closed bathroom door.

  “Amma,” he called.

  The sound of water running was the only response.

  He stared at the door again. If he told Amma about the note, she would most likely expect to come with him—their bargain was still in play. She would surely want a chance at getting the chalice and winning the reward.

  But, there was also a huge likelihood that this was another trap.

  He picked up his jacket and tucked the note into the inside pocket.

  He dressed quickly. After finding a piece of stationery in the room’s desk, he wrote a note for Amma and left it on her pillow.

  As he walked past the bathroom door, he could hear the shower running. He paused one more second, wondering if leaving Amma behind was the right move.

  His hand on the doorknob to the hall, he nodded to himself. It might not be fair, cutting her out of what was happening, but it was smart and it would keep her safe.

  * * *

  Fafnir ambled into the hotel lobby. He sniffed the air; the place smelled of humans. He grunted and kept walking. The place was fancy—marble floors, real flowers and plush rugs. Just the kind of place a dragon would choose. The only kind of place Fafnir would choose once his transition was complete.

  Sitting against the back wall was a reception desk, a counter-high reception desk. In other words too high for him to see over. Muttering his annoyance, he grabbed the edge and flipped his body onto the black marble top. A desk clerk dressed in a blue suit with a red flower stuck to his lapel stared back openmouthed.

  “Not too friendly a setup you have here.” Fafnir tapped his toe. A bit of dirt fell off his boot onto the marble. From here he was taller than the man. Fafnir stared down his nose at him. The dwarf’s hand drifted to his belt where his ax normally hung, but the loop was empty. His father and brother insisted that they try to blend when any of them were out in the main human population.

  Fafnir despised blending. He picked up his foot and sat his heel down on the clump of dirt, crushing it to dust.

  “I’m sorry we… You… We don’t—” The man’s gaze danced around the room, as if he was afraid to look directly at the dwarf.

  A common human ailment, in Fafnir’s experience. They weren’t comfortable with anyone who didn’t look just like themselves.

  He ignored the man’s stuttering and stepped closer. “I know what you don’t. Don’t like my kind here, is that it?”

  “No, of course—” The man glanced around again, but this time with an obvious intent of finding assistance from some quarter.

  Fafnir pressed his advantage, using the man’s discomfort to get the information he needed. “There’s a couple staying here. I don’t know their names, but I need to talk to one of them—the woman.” He described the pair, then leaned so his nose almost brushed the clerk’s. “You find her for me.”

  It wasn’t a request. The desk clerk, smart man that he was, seemed to realize that. He, however, was having a hard time realizing that it wasn’t an order he could choose to decline. “I can’t reveal information about our gues—”

  Fafnir leaned closer. “Your full-size guests?” His size made many humans uncomfortable. And as much as he’d have preferred to just jam his fist into the man’s throat, he couldn’t. Not without a lot of extra trouble that would only get in the way of his mission. The spy had done her part; his brother had shared that the dragon’s female had come to the club looking for the Collector, had claimed she had some deal to make with him. This at least gave Fafnir a place to start, a job to claim.

  “No, our guests’ size has no bearing on…” The clerk twisted to the side and picked up a phone. “Who should I say is visiting?”

  Fafnir leaned back on his heels, ignoring the clerk’s question.

  The clerk repeated his question. With a scowl, Fafnir replied, “She’ll know.”

  He waited, hands on his hips while the clerk dialed the number and stammered into the phone. After a few seconds, relief washed over the man’s face. He nodded and set down the phone. “She’ll meet you in the bar.” He pointed to the right.

  Fafnir grunted and leaped to the floor.

  This plan was going to work. He knew what the witch wanted; he just had to convince her he was willing and able to give it to her.

  Chapter 19

  The hotel bar was decorated in marigold-yellow and white. It was impossibly cheery and made Amma just a tad nauseous. As did the dwarf sitting perched inside one of the oversize egg-shaped chairs. Sitting back against the cushion, his feet poked out like a child’s; somehow that made seeing him even more unsettling.

  Fafnir.

  Her first instinct had been to ignore the desk clerk’s claim that a man had asked to meet with her in the bar. She’d still been stewing over what had happened with Joarr—what her body had done—and was in no mood to deal with what she’d assumed was some human who had seen her in the lobby and mistaken her for someone he had a chance with. But when the clerk had described her visitor as a “little person,” she’d told him she’d be right down. She hadn’t known which dwarf to expect—but it didn’t matter. This mess obviously revolved around the dwarves. She wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see why one had come to call. Besides, the dwarf had arrived only minutes after she’d discovered a vague note from Joarr saying he had been called out. Joarr was a dragon in the human world. Who would call him out? Only someone involved in this tale. And now a dwarf was here asking for her. She couldn’t ignore that.