The Problem With Witches: An Arcane Shot Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  “Raina.” Mikhael had turned her to face him. Both of his hands were coiled in her hair, his thumbs against her parted lips. His dark gaze locked with hers.

  “This is why vacations are hard,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s better when I’m busy, preoccupied with the million things I have to do at Sweet Dreams.”

  Two hours of relaxation she could manage. Two days, and her mind would go to bad places, like this, and drive her mad. Her leisure time might no longer present a danger to those around her, but her own sanity was in jeopardy.

  The sudden hard grip of Mikhael’s hands on her biceps, the still heat of his breath against her fluttering pulse, snapped her attention away from that thought. His dark eyes had become an abyss, drawing her in.

  “You forget yourself, my sweet witch. You forget how deeply I can be in your mind when I choose. You spoke the word that does not belong to him. Does it?”

  She shook her head, her body shuddering with need, with hunger. His grip shifted up and he pulled her arms back further, so she felt the restraint of his hold, her breasts lifting against his chest.

  “To remind you, I have to be crueler than I intended. But it is what is needed.”

  She trembled again under the heat of his regard. But with need, not fear. His hands constricted and she felt the glorious strain on her shoulders from his strength. He dipped his head, nuzzled her jugular, set his teeth to it, let her feel the compression, the pounding of blood against his hold upon her. She shuddered, closing her eyes again.

  “There are other names for you,” he said easing that bite, but only to speak against her skin. His tone was now ruthlessly conversational. “Kotyonok, kitten. But I also like zvezda moya, my star. Or even better. Moya edinstvennaya. My one and only.”

  When his teeth bit deeper, she surged up against his hold, the slashes of energy becoming the crimson of a dazzling sunset. It formed a haze over her eyes, shimmering over her body. Her canines sharpened, and her fingers curled, evolving into talons with wicked curved claws. If there were a mirror, she knew her pupils would show as dark slits, her green-gold eyes now even more brilliantly colored.

  “Mikhael,” she said, her voice a rough growl. Pleading, savage.

  “I am here, Raina. He was never worthy of that title. You have a fine, noble, fierce heart. Dark and beautiful, like a violent rainstorm. Only your true Master can command it. So tell me who that is.”

  She, who confidently handled every male in her life, was always in deep water when it came to Mikhael. With him, she could play and tease, unleash the succubus power that could kill a human in a matter of minutes. He would absorb and channel it, use it as a binding upon her, immerse her in her own magic. She trusted him to command her like no other, because he put her needs before anything else. Even recognized what they were, before she did.

  Her male, such a frightening force in the world they inhabited, had a heart that never ceased to give when it came to his love for her.

  “Settle now. Sshh, vedma. Settle.” He soothed her, nuzzling her throat with his mouth. “It is not yet time. I would tease you a little longer, build your hunger even higher, now that I am here where I can deny you for the pleasure of us both. That is my right, is it not?”

  She was safe. He kept her safe and, even more importantly, he kept everyone around her that way. Calmer now, she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, since she was facing him, held close against his chest. He curved one large hand over her skull, his fingers stroking her scalp, as they stood before the silent city, felt the energy currents from it together.

  The hunger was still sharp and there, but the chance to feed was under his control, and close enough she could think straight. Wanting to prove she could keep herself together, she shifted so she stood next to him at the rail. However, she still curled both arms around one of his, feeling the solid upper arm muscles press between her breasts. As she propped her chin on his shoulder, she gazed back into the room. Graceful antique-style furniture, sparkling warm lights from a chandelier. When she inhaled, she took in the scents of a building that had stood for over a century, absorbing the energy and memories of all who had stayed here.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “For this.”

  “You paint too bright a picture of me,” he said, brushing his lips along the top of her head, moving to her forehead as she tipped back her face to look up at him.

  “Brightness has nothing to do with it.” She dropped her touch to his slim belt, fingering it, and gave him a feline smile. “It’s in the dark I find things worth grasping.”

  “Wench.” He caught her wrist, but it wasn’t to push her away, though he did deny her the touch she wanted. Lifting the hand to his mouth, he bit it lightly before he left her at the railing and moved to the threshold between the balcony and the bedroom.

  When he reached it, he stopped. Tilting his head down, he glanced at her out of his peripheral vision. The look was a clear command. He expected her to follow.

  Cathair, smart bird that he was, decided to vacate the bedroom. He glided past them and back out onto the wide balcony, taking an eagle’s eye view on the railing.

  Raina moved to Mikhael. She slid her hand up to his shoulder, his strong neck, stretching her body as she did so. A purr came to her throat when she leaned full into him, arching to press against him, into him. When she dropped her head back, he took his pleasure with her throat again. A leisurely, maddening press, tease, kiss and bite. He gave her the tip of his tongue, the cut of his teeth. All while he stroked the length of her from hip to rib cage, to the outer swell of her breast and back again. Such simple caresses, that created an explosive surge of energy within her, and across every inch of her flesh.

  He slid his hands down, over her buttocks, and with a hitch, lifted her so she had her legs around him. He carried her inside, laid her down on the bed, keeping one arm around her as he braced the other, put a hand on the mattress.

  “Master,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his mouth. She trembled as more of that energy spilled out over them. She was suddenly too hungry. And though she knew he could contain it, it still startled her a little bit, how much it hit her, took her over. The claws that had receded returned, and she curled them into his shoulder. A hiss came from her when he moved his hand to her throat and lifted his body further, knee pressed between her legs as he watched her body writhe under his hold.

  “Stay there.”

  He stood up, at end of the bed, and began to open his shirt, flicking open the buttons. She rolled to her stomach, gazing at him through the veil of her hair that had dropped over one of her eyes. Though she stayed on the bed, it was a big one, so she lifted onto all fours and prowled across the mattress to him, her body swaying with desire. For years after winning her freedom, she’d kept this side of her so locked down, never letting it out like this so she could embrace her full nature.

  He knew what it did to her, denial, teasing. More denial. But behind it, promises he made would always be kept. It made her heart ache even as her lust grew. He knew how to answer both.

  Shirt now open and sleeves precisely folded back to reveal his corded forearms, he leveled an even look upon her.

  “If I am your Master, then why are you still wearing clothes?”

  There was sensual menace in his voice, the embers of hell simmering beneath the deceptively soft tone. That hell possessed a heat she craved.

  “Why haven’t you made me take them off?” she teased him, goading the beast.

  He crossed his powerful arms over his chest, making the shirt stretch over his shoulders in a mouthwatering way. “Take them off. Now.”

  She rose to her knees, lifted her arms. First, she ran her hands through her thick hair, loving the way he watched the thick silky locks pour through her fingers, fall over her breasts and down her back, nearly to her waist. His hands curled against his arms, and she knew he was thinking of what he said. How he liked to wrap his hands in it when he took her body, binding her to him.

&nbs
p; He’d once taken her to a crystal cave in Hell. It had a hot spring that caught the lights of the crystals and turned the water jewel-like. He’d allowed her no covering except her hair while there, and yet he’d ensured her comfort, because the air was warm. And she’d had the heat of his body to cover her.

  He attended to her every need, which made her want to do the same for him, and give him the kind of pleasure that only a succubus could. She knew every potent nuance sex could possess, and the key to unlocking it was never, ever to rush the opening of the door. Grasping the hem of her velvet shirt, she drew it off, revealing the green satin lace bra beneath that barely held her generous breasts. The mesh at the top showed a teasing glimpse of areola and a lot of curve. Her silver pentagram fell back to her cleavage as she freed her hair from the neckline and dropped the garment to the floor.

  She still had Cathair’s green beads looped around her wrist like a bracelet. Now she put them over her head, let them tumble around her neck, rest in her cleavage and over her breasts.

  She pierced herself when her mood called for it, let the piercings close when it didn’t. Right now, her only one was a navel piercing. It was adorned with a tiny dangling bat, a playful thing he’d given her when she teased him about hanging by his heels from the trees to sleep, his wings folded about him. Though his wings most often seemed like a bat’s, or a dark dragon’s, their form could morph, even to her magic-enhanced senses. One moment they’d be in sharp relief, black, leathery and possessing sharp talons at the joints, their span a formidable width arching over his broad shoulders. Then they would blur and be like a rippling cape with ragged edges, soft as the softest fur when they folded around her.

  She toyed with the piercing, dipping her head so her hair brushed her now naked waist. The jeans rode low, exposing her hip bones.

  “Don’t play with me, Raina. I will incinerate those clothes, turn them to falling ash around you.”

  She cocked her head, giving him a sinful look from beneath her lashes. She opened the jeans as she did so, sliding her hand beneath the open zipper to caress herself inside filmy panties that matched the bra.

  Now he moved toward her, volatile heat cutting a wide swathe around him. He was no incubus, but she’d often wondered if there was a drop of that blood somewhere in him. He had a way of moving, all dangerous power, that made a female instantly think of sex, and how knee-weakeningly well he would do it. The darkness within him only fueled such imaginings. Especially to a creature of darkness, like her.

  His hand slid into the jeans on top of hers, pressing her fingers against herself even more firmly before he clasped her wrist, drew her arm up. As he licked her wet fingers, she quivered at the look in his eyes, her lips parting.

  He curled one hand in her hair, putting another at her waist, and lifted her against him. He held her there, brought her mouth to his. Now she whimpered against him, because, Goddess, the man could kiss. He took over, with the right amount of firmness and heat, his lips caressing and stroking, tongue executing an exquisite dance against her moist flesh. She clung to him, and gave him her passion. Her energy reached out for him eagerly, and he bound it even more securely to him. Not until he was ready. He would hold every tendril of energy, until she was insane with the hunger and need.

  He turned her so she was on all fours on the bed, and pushed her to her elbows, her backside high in the air. When he yanked the jeans and panties to her knees, her breath caught in her throat.

  “No foreplay, Mast—” She strangled on that attempt at a playful question. Before she could get the words out, he’d opened his slacks and shoved his cock into her slick heat, his relentless hands grasping her hips to lift her up further, take his considerable length and girth even deeper. She grasped the covers in her fists, holding on. All mischief fled, because she felt the underlying emotions driving him. He wanted her with the hunger of a beast of the underworld. The ferocity of his demand didn’t give her room to even wonder what had goaded him to this level.

  Her energy roared forth, saturated the room, swirled and gripped, coiling tight around them, giving every stroke the strength and intensity of a climax. She was already biting the covers, muffling her cries in a pillow. But he was having none of that. He gripped her hair, yanked her head up so her screams reverberated against the walls. Now at last, he denied her no more. His energy surged forth, twining with hers, wrapping around her, soaking deep into her, filling her. Feeding her like a hot, pounding rain fed the earth. And he hadn’t even climaxed yet, when his sexual energy would be at its most rich and satisfying. She could probably live on his sexual emanations at their lowest wattage.

  She became a simple beast herself, meeting every thrust to show her willingness to take him. Another whimper escaped her throat, a note of trepidation that he answered in the way she needed. She closed her eyes in sheer bliss as those wings she loved curved around her. She shifted her grip to them, to the edges that held the talons. She wrapped her fingers around the hard, unyielding bone, but pressed her forehead to the soft, leathery substance beneath it, giving herself to that cradle as he used her body mercilessly.

  As a succubus, her body was always ready to take a man, but her desire for him was far more than physical, which fanned the flames to a level that always terrified her in some strange, addictive way. As she drew so close to release she made a warning noise, he reached beneath her, captured her clit in his fingers and pinched, offering her pain and denying her the pleasure. He released inside her, grunting through the harder thrusts that pushed her against the mattress. She let out a moan, her body shuddering as that energy filled her, sated her, taking hunger away and leaving only her boundless desire for him, a wave she could ride forever.

  Because of that, she couldn’t suppress a noise of protest as he pulled free.

  “What was that?” he demanded, hearing it.

  He flipped her to her back. When he grasped her hair, knotting it in his fist, he had his other hand on her throat. He used the hold on her hair to lift her off the bed onto her knees, but the grip on her throat tightened as he brought her face inches from his unholy gaze, the dark eyes possessing licks of crimson flame. His mouth was a hard line she wanted upon her again.

  “Nothing, my lord,” she said, sweeping her lashes down. Her voice was thready, because she was literally on the edge of climax, but she wouldn’t release. Not without his permission.

  “My witch wanted foreplay,” he said. “And I will never deny her what she truly wants.” He put his hand down between them, and she made another tiny noise as he cupped her sex. When she felt the electric touch of his magic, her heart pounded in sensual dread.

  “No climax for you,” he said, a threat and a promise. “Not until you have experienced all the pleasure I want to inflict upon you. Feeding your appetite isn’t enough. I want to overwhelm the woman, give her everything she needs, until the word Master has only one meaning to her, now and forever.”

  He’d promised her cruel punishment for that slip, and his reminder would be sensually brutal enough to drive away the shadow of the past.

  “Your nature is to misbehave, Raina,” her Dark Guardian said. “My punishment reminds you that you may misbehave all you wish, but that you always, always serve your Master.” His fingers tightened on her throat. “That you are always mine.”

  “Always,” she responded. Despite the ruthlessness of his words, the unshakable grip, she reached up and sketched the side of his face with her fingertips, letting her nails leave a faint line. His eyes were wholly dark, the whites gone, an effect that occurred in moments of great feeling.

  There was no room now for her sharp tongue or her clever teasing, the things that she enjoyed doing to challenge him. When she was vulnerable like this, she could reach into his soul, see what he needed and wanted, too. Her touch was intended to give him that. She would do whatever was necessary to convince him of the truth in her soul—she wanted what he demanded. And the word Master, when it appeared in her heart or soul, applied onl
y to him, now and forever.

  He leaned into the bite of her nails, his lips so close to hers.

  “We are no longer alone,” he murmured.

  “I know. Don’t stop. Please.”

  Chapter Five

  Before they took their leave for the hotel, Raina had given Marcie their room number at the Monteleone.

  “Take this for whenever you arrive, whether it’s in the next hour or so, or if you decide to come closer to mid-morning,” the witch said, pressing a key into Marcie’s hand. Her fingertips slid over Marcie’s wrist pulse, sending a sensual thrum through the arm and her breast, tightening the nipple. As Marcie stood there, a little mesmerized, the woman played her fingertip over that pulse. “You don’t have to knock,” Raina said. “It’s a connected pair of suites and they both have living room areas. We keep the doors between them open. You can use the unoccupied bedroom.”

  The witch turned to take the hand Mikhael had stretched out to her. Marcie watched his large fingers close over the female’s slim ones. As Mikhael tucked that hand into the crook of his elbow, Marcie noticed Raina gripped his biceps briefly. There seemed to be several things in the gesture. Intimate affection for certain, but a certain level of reassurance. For the witch, as if she was reminding herself he was there, at her side.

  Then they were departing, Derek hefting his staff and touching it to the brim of the cowboy hat he’d donned, before following in their wake.

  The way Mikhael drew Raina to him showed Marcie a man and woman bonded in so many ways that nothing would ever cut all the lines, especially the one between their souls, a rope twisted by the Fates themselves. Marcie didn’t think she was being overly romantic. It was something she recognized.

  Which provided her a small measure of reassurance to a worry she knew was foolish for that very reason. When Marcie had arrived, Raina had been standing by the windows with Ben, close, her breast nearly against his arm, her hand upon him as she gazed up into his face. Ben had looked oblivious to his surroundings, in a way that had given Marcie a bad moment. But ruefully she realized when Raina had been touching her, she’d been caught in the same fog, with probably nearly the same look on her face.