by N. D. Jones
“I didn’t wake you for this.”
Assefa rolled annoyed eyes to the clock on the nightstand, then pinned her with a heated gaze. “It’s two o’clock. There are only two things I’m interested in doing this time of morning”—he fluffed his pillow—“and, apparently, one of them is off the table.” More fluffing. “I’m going back to sleep.” He gave her a chaste kiss to the cheek, then rolled over and away from her.
“Men,” she huffed, and then threw the blanket off him, revealing a white, sleeveless undershirt and bed-wrinkled, white-and-blue boxers.
“Damn it, Sanura,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous. “What do you want from me so early in the morning if not to go a round or two of billiards?”
“Does everything with you have to be about sex?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” He popped up in bed. “This coming from the same woman who initiated sex in her best friend’s living room while there was a minor only one floor up.”
Sanura blushed. At the time, Gen hadn’t crossed her mind. All she could think about was how turned-on she became when they comingled their magic, stirring a sexual craving for the man and his magic. But that was a side effect of the bonding she wasn’t yet ready to admit. Besides, with the superior way Assefa was staring at her, no way would she be copping to that anytime soon, no more than she would permit herself to be goaded into a pointless argument.
Instead, she scampered out of bed, opened the bedroom door, and exited. Two minutes later, she came back in the room, closed the door behind her, and flipped the light switch on. “Everyone’s asleep.”
“Of course, they’re asleep, it’s too early to be up and about. Just tell me what this is about so I can go back to sleep.”
Sanura sat down on the bed, ignoring Assefa’s displeased grimace. “It’s time for us to complete the ritual and free Eric’s inner cat.”
“It’s two o’clock.” Assefa glanced at the clock again and corrected. “It’s two-ten, for Sekhmet’s sake. Wake me in four hours then I’ll be ready to listen to your plan.” He groped for the flat sheet and covered himself.
“It’s now or never, Assefa, so wake your grumpy butt up and help me.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy in the morning?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a whiny baby when you don’t get enough sleep?” she countered, then poked him in the side.
Without warning, Assefa jumped up and pinned her to the bed. His big body held her down, her arms above her head in an unbreakable vise. “I wouldn’t be so ill-tempered if you’d woken me properly.”
Assefa had caught her unaware, but she wouldn’t be cowed by his arrogant masculinity, so she struggled.
He laughed.
He was much stronger than she, but that didn’t stop her from putting up a fight. He loosened his grip, allowing her to push and pull herself free, only to be trapped once again in his debilitating grip. He did this several times, permitting her to taste freedom only to snatch it away at the last minute.
“You don’t fight fair,” she panted, her attempts having done nothing but work him between her legs, his hardness grazing her damp panties. And he made sure every squirm of her hips left him in the right spot, tempting her with his delicious weight and thick arousal.
“You wake me before the sun is up with a teasing kiss, not to play my favorite game, but to help you with a ritual. Now who doesn’t play fair?”
The way he had her splayed, thighs open, arms hoisted and held above her head, body half-naked, she felt like a virginal offering to a pagan god. Under different circumstances, Sanura would play the role of damsel in distress until she was sweaty, sated, and virgin no more.
Sanura smiled at Assefa, knowing he had shaken off most of his initial irritability. He only needed a few more minutes of banter, and he would be in the proper mindset for what she had in mind.
Deliberately, she raised her hips. Just a fraction, but it was enough. Her wetness connected with his hardness.
Assefa moaned.
She did it repeatedly, rocking into him, a shallow penetration, their underwear an unnatural barrier. Yet it still felt good. So good, in fact, that Sanura had nearly forgotten her ploy. That was until she felt Assefa’s grip on her wrists loosen, and then fall away, sliding to her panties and—
The incantation she’d been holding burst from her mouth. He paused; his wily fingers so close to her moist heat. Sorry, baby, next time. Sanura flipped Assefa onto his back, then quickly recited the second half of the spell.
She now straddled his thighs. Inordinately pleased with herself, she winked at her special agent before bestowing him with her best mocking smile.
He couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried, and he tried damn hard, his biceps flexing in the most arousing way every time he did. As did the vein in the center of his head, the one that tended to appear whenever he was…well, excited, or in this case, frustrated.
“You can’t break the spell, so you might as well give up.”
He glared at her when neither his legs nor his arms obeyed his commands.
“You wicked little witch. I’m going to make you pay for this once I’m free.” His eyes flashed Mngwa gold, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d gone too far. But he was still so hard under her. Surely that meant he wasn’t as upset as he seemed.
“Well, you have to obtain your freedom first.” Sanura poked him in the chest. “You fell for a level-one binding spell, Special Agent Berber. Just admit I won and I’ll release you.”
“You didn’t win, you cheated.” He growled and then tried to lift his hips and buck her off of him. No success.
“Sore loser.” Sanura poked him again.
“Stop poking me, woman. Those twiglike fingers of yours hurt.”
“Then admit defeat so we can move on.” She leaned over him, their faces inches apart and the temptation to kiss and lick his pouting lips so strong.
“You need to stop provoking me, Sanura. I don’t think I like this side of you. It’s extremely unbecoming.”
“What side, baby, the winning side?” she taunted, not fooled by his feigned insult.
“Do you treat all your lovers like this or only the ones who try to have sex with you at two in the morning?”
Lover. The word didn’t adequately capture what they were to each other. She didn’t know what word did, but “lover” was far too tame, far too shallow, and far too temporary.
She grazed his lips. “You’re the only man I ever wanted to bind, and I hope we can play this game again when we get home.” Sliding her tongue over full, supple lips, she played and teased before saying, “I release you. You’re bound to me no more.”
An inexplicable pinprick of pain struck Sanura, going straight to her as she unwrapped him from her spell, giving Assefa his freedom, his leave of her. The biting ache grew, sinking in deeper when the last tendrils of the spell coiled back into her, separating Assefa from Sanura. The pain, a magical foreboding of events to come, to dangers yet revealed, a warning from the fire spirit and to the woman.
Even though his body was now his own, Assefa didn’t move. Neither did his witch. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The way she stared down at him made his gut clinch. She appeared on the verge of tears. He didn’t understand the mood swing. Assefa wasn’t truly upset with Sanura. Perhaps she thought he was. “Tell me.”
“It’s nothing.”
A lie.
He did move then, forcing her to do the same. They sat in the center of the bed, facing each other, no more playful humor between them, just a witch’s lack of trust.
“Okay, I’m awake and you have my attention. What do you need me to do?”
“We need to complete the second half of my plan.”
“Wait a minute. You told Cynthia you would go over part two of the plan with her and Eric in the morning. Now you’re planning on doing it behind their backs?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t have a choice.”
&
nbsp; “You have a choice. You don’t have the right to make decisions for other people.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. Eric can’t know and Cyn wouldn’t approve.”
“So, you’ve decided that the all-knowing fire witch of legend has the right to do whatever in the hell she wants regardless of what anyone else thinks.” Assefa stood, the cool from the floor doing little to dull his heat. “You’re a doctor, Sanura, you know all about informed consent. Yet you trampled over it with the first ritual, and now you intend to do it again.”
“It’s not like that. You’re acting as if I want to perform the ritual behind my friends’ backs. I don’t. If there was another way, I would gladly take it.”
“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t eschew being the fire witch of legend in one breath while acting like an omnipotent goddess the next.”
She jumped from the bed, all long limbs and enraged eyes. “That’s not what this is about. And don’t you dare compare me to a goddess. I’m nothing like them.”
Perhaps not yet, but someone was working damn hard to make sure she tapped into her new base of power. And the opportunities, of late, abounded. Assefa would have to be a fool not to question all the preternatural crap that kept finding them, creating situations where they felt compelled to combine their magic into a fighting force. Raven Mockers are rare, but one managed to find its way to the Garvey’s home when Sanura and I just happened to be here.
No, the special agent didn’t believe in that level of coincidence. It didn’t help that Sanura found it far too easy to ignore the opinion of others in favor of her own. That kind of thinking was a slippery slope. He wouldn’t let Sanura go down that path.
“Tell you what, explain the ritual to me. If, after hearing the details, I agree that Eric and Cynthia shouldn’t be told, I’ll help you. If I disagree, then you accept my decision. You’ll tell the Garveys and let them decide how they’d like for us to proceed.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t like your FBI attitude, Special Agent Berber, nor the way you negotiate.”
“But do you agree?”
She plopped onto the bed. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not if you want my help.” He sat next to her. “Either we’re partners or we’re not. A witch doesn’t dictate the terms of the witch-familiar relationship, and neither does the familiar. I won’t tolerate anything less than full equality between us, a respectful partnership. Do you know how to be a partner?”
Assefa already knew the answer, but Sanura’s truthful words of, “I’ve never tried. Not truly,” gave him hope. I’ll teach you. He extended his hand, palm-up, to her. “Are you willing to try, willing to learn?”
She pressed her palm into his, and he circled her hand with his fingers. “I’ll tell you everything, Assefa. I’ll leave nothing out, and we’ll make this decision together. Fair enough?”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eric Garvey awoke from what felt like a fever-induced sleep. His mouth felt desert-dry, lips cracked and painful, the tongue he slid across them doing nothing to alleviate his discomfort.
A sliver of moonlight eked through the raised Roman shades, partially illuminating the darkened room. The smooth whirl of the ceiling fan sliced through the air, bringing with it a cold breeze that chased Eric’s exposed legs.
He sat up, then looked down to see he only wore a short-sleeve, black-and-red firefighter T-shirt that read, “When others run out, we run in,” and a pair of matching shorts with a raging fire on the thigh and the letters EMT on a fire hose surrounding it.
A sense of unease coursed through him; hotter than any fire he’d ever fought. Needing the comfort his wife always afforded him, Eric reached for Cynthia. Cold, smooth sheets met him. She wasn’t there.
Eric frowned, got out of bed, and headed for Gen’s room. He knocked first, waited all of thirty seconds, and then went inside. Her bed was empty, neat and tidy as she left it every morning before leaving for school. He glanced about the room in search of…well, he didn’t know what he was expecting to find. His eyes settled on the clock on her desk, the blinking red numbers the only light in the room.
Eric hustled back into his bedroom and looked out one of the windows. He saw no one on the dark street. The streetlamps were out, leaving the neighborhood eerily quiet. Like his own home, no other house he could see had lights on. The Dorseys and the Watsons, directly across from him, always had their porch lights on past dusk on a timer, like his own. Yet their homes were just as black, just as oddly bleak as his.
He turned from the window then, his heartbeat picking up pace, his mind whirling with confusion and concern. How, then, is Gen’s clock working? Was there a power outage? Did it only affect part of the house? Where in the hell is my family?
Eric shoved his legs into a pair of faded blue jeans and covered his chilled feet with socks. He cautiously took the steps downstairs, trying his best to see in the dark house. When he reached the bottom step, he noticed a dim light coming from the den. The door to the room was closed, but the light shimmered like a teasing homing beacon from the two inches where the door ended and the hardwood floor began.
Creeping to the door, his heart pounded, compelled forward by the urge to locate his family, to get answers for all the strange shit that had happened since he’d awoken. Finding the wall, he slid along it. His feet hit something long. Eric bent, both hands going to his feet and searching. He lifted the object, knowing what it was. Cynthia’s umbrella. Great, Eric, your family could be in trouble and all you got is a pointy umbrella. Yeah, that was all he had. He held tightly onto it.
He turned the knob then pushed the door open, leading with the umbrella. He peered into the room and didn’t know whether to be relieved or afraid. It was empty. He shook his head, realizing the horrific image he’d created, in his mind, wasn’t before him. Thank Ra. But he was no closer to finding his wife and sister.
Frustrated, Eric walked out of the den, his steps soundless. He headed to the front door, unlocked it, and walked outside. His car and Cynthia’s car were parked in the driveway. He went to them, touching the hoods of both. They’re cold, so where in the hell are the girls? Shit, shit, shit. I get sick for one night and lose track of my goddamn family. What in the hell is going on here?
Eric ran back into the house, slamming and locking the door behind him. He stumbled to the den and picked up the phone, cursing himself for not thinking to use it earlier. Mike will know what to do. He can find them. Or Sanura. Or Makena.
“Fuck.” Tension pulsed in his neck, the phone failing to register a dial tone. “How in the hell can there be electricity for the lamp but none for the phone, and they’re in the same damn room?” Eric hurled the phone across the room, smashing it against the wall. Bits of plastic and metal fell to the floor, but he was already out of the room to care or to notice.
Maybe I can find my cell phone. It has to be in the bedroom somewhere. Eric started for the stairs when a sound stopped him cold. He turned around, listening, and then followed the low but consistent noise. An unexpected sound in an otherwise comatose house, and it was coming from the basement. Shit, why didn’t I think to look down there?
As quietly as possible, Eric moved down the hall and to the door that led to the basement. Thinking better of it, he went to the kitchen, found a butcher knife, and dropped the umbrella he’d been clinging to. Palming the handle of the reassuring weight, he returned to the basement door, opened it, and descended the stairs.
Once on the steps, the sounds were discernible now, and they sounded like…groans. He reached the bottom of the landing, walked three steps, and—Pain slammed into his head. Eric dropped to his knees. Something hit him again. Head spun, eyes shut, face hit floor. Then he felt himself being dragged by one leg, darkness and fury clawing at him, pulling him under.
He went.
Pain. His head. His neck. Eric’s eyes flew open and pain seared through him. A warm liquid ran down the
side of his head, to his ear, and onto his neck. Pain exploded behind his eyes; a stabbing pressure that made him want to cry out.
He fought the cranial assault, pushing the ache away. The swinging ceiling bulb was now on and Eric could see his bloodstained socks. Willing his neck upward, Eric lifted his head, focused his eyes, and saw them.
No more than fifteen feet in front of him sat his wife and baby sister, tied to separate chairs. Their legs and feet were bound, and they weren’t moving. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if they were breathing. He went to move, only then realizing he was also tied to a chair. Dammit. Desperate to reach them, Eric fought against the ropes, twisting and turning, cutting and tearing flesh. He didn’t care. He had to get them all out of here before—
“Don’t bother trying to escape,” a sinister voice came from the shadows.
Eric stopped struggling and peered in the direction of the voice. He squinted, unseeing, and cursed his human-level vision. The damn disease had stolen every part of Eric that made him a were-cat, a real man, even his enhanced senses. Now that he needed them the most, now that his family needed his cat within…
“Show yourself, you son of a bitch. Or are you too afraid to face me like a man?”
A harsh, derisive laugh had Eric’s heart jumping into his throat.
“You, Mr. Garvey, are a charlatan, like all the rest. Husbands, fathers, boyfriends, and brothers all think they can protect their women, their children, from what lurks in the shadows.” The interloper laughed again, then slinked into the gloomy light hanging from the ceiling.
Eric could now look upon his tormentor, and what he saw disturbed him more than anything in the world. The intruder leaned down to Eric, only four repulsive inches from his face.
“Recognize me now, little Eric?”
