The days she didn’t touch him were the blackest of days in this black, black month of misery.
Alfie was certain of this, even when she pulled her hand away at the very last moment, leaving him bellowing, bucking into space, with Leon in his usual spot in a corner of the cellar outside the cage, laughing, obviously hard in his jeans from watching Alfie’s arousal.
Alfie had said to Leon so many times in quiet moments that he should run when the Divine was distracted. That she always left the door standing open.
But Leon never ran.
And Alfie never forced him to.
12
BLAKE DIDN’T KNOW where they were or how they’d got there. All he knew was one minute he’d been talking to Cate in the Botanical Gardens and the next he was walking across the drawbridge of a castle, a perfectly authentic medieval castle that seemed to exist somewhere out of time and space. It made Blake shudder, kind of seasick again. Witches! Gross!
As they walked into a big flagstoned entrance hall – that was anachronistically comfortable and warm – Lilith was walking down a majestic staircase, resplendent in all her usual pin-striped, high-heeled glory. ‘Mr Tabernacle, my favourite humanoid creature,’ she said, as usual her low musical voice making Blake’s spine tingle. She danced over the flagstones, her heels click-clacking, and almost threw herself into his arms like a Victorian lady in a fainting fit. ‘It’s been too long, darling,’ she cooed, reaching up to touch his cheek. ‘You know how I miss you and your little ways.’ She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and pulled him down into a kiss.
Blake let her kiss him, once, on the mouth and kind of smooshily. God, this was weird. Why was she being like this?
‘You can go now,’ Lilith said over Blake’s shoulder to Cate, as she let him up.
Cate locked eyes with Blake. ‘Oh, uh, OK. Um, are you all right here, Blake?’
Blake turned in Lilith’s arms. Cate’s face was full of concern. He smiled at her. ‘Oh yeah. I reckon so.’
When Cate had gone, Lilith bustled Blake into a plush little nook of a lounge and forced a cup of very good coffee into his hands. The room was somewhere between flouncy and austere, the walls rough stone and wooden panelling, the furniture all boudoir. It was like being in the waiting room of a medieval brothel.
She sat down next to him on the sofa. Far too close.
Blake shifted. ‘Lilith . . .’
Lilith smiled as his voice trailed away. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘ask me.’
‘Ask you what?’
‘Ask me to help Iris. I know why you’re here, Tabernacle. I’m a witch. Help her get Alfie back. Isn’t that right? So noble.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Blake said hurriedly. ‘I just don’t want that creature, wolf bitch queen, to do whatever she’s going to do with a thralled unstable werewolf.’
‘He’s not just an unstable werewolf now . . .’
‘I know. You think I’m not aware of what he is? Of what his power could be harnessed to do? Why do you think I’m here? Talking to a witch who likes me to do things to her that witches kill men for doing? I’m here because I need you, Lilith. You need to help. Even if I knew where he was, he’s thralled to her and killing her, well, that’s not straightforward.’
‘Fine, fine,’ Lilith cooed. ‘It doesn’t matter. Although, actually finding them might be your biggest problem. But, OK, you’re asking a favour of me, right? Get him back. Which means that in return I can ask you to take my witch’s binding.’
Blake tried to draw away from Lilith, but the arm of the sofa was right behind him and he didn’t have anywhere to go. ‘What? You have to ask three favours of a witch before she can ask a binding.’
‘You have asked three favours of me, Tabernacle.’
‘I have not!’ Blake shouted suddenly. ‘God, can’t you count? Whoever heard of a dumb witch?’ Blake held up his palms as Lilith’s face stiffened. ‘Sorry, fuck. Please don’t kill me! But, really! Three? How do you work that out?’
‘That first time we met. You tied me up and I sucked your cock.’
‘What! That was all your idea. You seduced me, tricked me, made me think you were powerless so I’d tie you up and dominate you a bit. I shoved my dick in your mouth, sure. But that was all your idea. I’ve shoved my dick in more than a few mouths and, actually, they’ve always been very willing. And, sweetheart, you are a witch! If you hadn’t wanted that, I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have a dick right now. Or I would have it growing out of my face, or some other kind of witchy attempt at humorous maiming.’
Lilith’s face changed to one of almost girlish excitement. ‘Ha, you know, actually there was this one woman, Petranella Snow. This was about twenty years ago. But this guy stuck his dick down her throat when she didn’t want him to and she fixed it so his dick grew out of the back of his tongue. Right down his throat. One of those witchy ironic punishment things.’
‘Really?’ Blake felt cold inside.
Lilith, clearly, thought this was funny. ‘Yeah. He died though, choked or something.’
‘OK, well, look, that’s just great and it just proves my point. I’m still alive. And my dick is where it should be. The sheer fact you didn’t smite me means when you sucked my cock you weren’t doing it as a favour.’
‘What? Didn’t you enjoy it?’
‘That’s not the point. I wasn’t asking a favour of a witch.’
‘Oh no? Well, let me remind you of the moment where you had me tied down in the bed underneath you, you were hammering into me with a cock like a fucking iron bar . . .’ Lilith’s voice faded away for a second. She blinked. ‘Hmm, how do you do that, you’re what? Forty?’
‘Forty-one,’ said Blake. ‘What can I say? I’m a voodoo sex god.’
‘Ha! Good one!’ Lilith said with her familiar bark of a laugh. ‘Hmm, yes, well, you were fucking me like that, and then you slipped your hand between my legs, twirled your fingers on my clit and you said, “Come on, witch, come for me.” I believe I did exactly what you asked.’
Blake shifted. Oh, fuck. ‘Damnit, Lilith, that really wasn’t . . .’
Lilith was smiling. ‘Yes it was, Tabernacle. It really was. You asked a favour of a witch.’ Lilith held up one finger. ‘And then you came back and asked me to fix your arm. Favour number two.’ She held up a second finger.
‘I took out those vamps for you in return for that.’
‘Well, I know, but it still counts. And now, here you are again. Asking me for another favour.’ Lilith moved closer and held up a third finger.
The soft scent of her was a little like Iris – grassy, cottony, lemony something. It was a trick, a witch trick, making him think she was like Iris. Damnit, though, it was hard to resist. Too easy for Blake to just close his eyes and believe her witch lies. ‘Yes. Another favour,’ said Blake tightly, pulling back a little. ‘Yes I am.’
‘You want me to help her? Iris? Your poor wife. Help her find her long-lost werewolf true love. Her life mate. Her bonded one. Help the warrior wolf become the wolf’s woman again. It’s so tragically romantic, Blake. Who’d’ve though it of you?’
‘That’s not what I –’
Lilith ignored him. ‘So you know how this works. You’re asking a third favour of a witch. So I’m offering you my bond. Take my bond and you can ask what you wish of me for your third favour.’
‘So this is it, then? A proposal?’
‘If you like, yeah?’
‘You’re not going to go down on one knee or anything?’
Lilith twisted her mouth a second. ‘Oh, darling,’ she said softly, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Lilith slipped off the sofa on to the floor. Blake felt his heartbeat faster. Sex with Lilith was never an easy proposition. Lilith liked him, he knew, because once upon a time she had persuaded him to treat her very mean indeed. But she had tricked him. There would have been no way he would have done what he’d done to a witch if she hadn’t promised him she had removed all her powers and so there was no dan
ger she would smite him in anger if he pulled her hair too hard or slapped her face at the wrong moment. That had been the deal. But she hadn’t done anything to her powers. She had still been possibly the most powerful woman in the world when Blake had tied her up with his tie and stuck his dick in her mouth. It gave Blake the sweats just to think about it.
And the worst thing of all was Lilith had made it pretty clear in their subsequent meetings that she wanted a replay. But that hadn’t happened. Until now.
The way Lilith scared Blake was different from the way Erin Cobalt scared him, or even the way Iris sometimes scared him. If she wanted to, Lilith really could reach inside him, take hold of his soul and squeeze.
His only protection was the fact that, for one reason or another, Lilith seemed to like him.
Her long fingers reached for his fly. ‘You know what I want, Blake,’ she said softly. ‘And I know what you want. So how about you show a girl a good time, huh?’
Blake looked at her, inhaled as hard as he could and reminded himself he was a brave man. He was the bravest man he knew. He leant forwards and put his hands over Lilith’s on his fly. ‘No,’ he said.
‘No?’ Lilith drew back. Her eyes looked a little black. ‘Blake,’ she said, and her voice was black too. Dark and hard and firm.
Blake leant forwards and put one finger across her lips to silence her and, with the other hand, he reached into the top inside pocket of his white coat and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. ‘No. Don’t do that with your hands.’
He leant forwards and reached around her and fumbled the cuffs on to her wrists behind her back. Her head was on his shoulder and he heard her sigh as the cuffs went tight. Something inside Blake couldn’t help admiring her ability to compartmentalise. There was no way in the world a pair of handcuffs could make a witch helpless – and yet, the way she was acting, he almost believed it himself.
His dick certainly believed it, stirring at his groin as he pulled away and she lifted her head. Their faces were very close together. Her eyes weren’t at all black now, just pure liquid blue. Her pupils dilated with lust. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘no magic. Understand?’
Lilith nodded. Soft.
‘Good. Well, let’s see if you can get my dick out with your mouth, witch.’
Blake leant back, already half-hard as Lilith moved. He grew harder as she squirmed in his crotch. She grunted in frustration as she tried to get a hold on his zipper. After a couple of failed attempts, she got it open and then, using her lips and tongue, she lifted Blake’s hard, hard dick out of his underwear.
Blake leant forwards a little and took hold of a clump of her hair in each hand – copying her earlier move in the hallway when she had forced her way into his mouth. ‘No magic, remember,’ he said as he forced her head down, sheathing his erection in her skull. ‘Take it like a woman, not a witch.’
Lilith felt good. So tight and hot. Her mouth seemed endless. A slick hot well of joy. He thrust up harder and held her head down.
The idea that she could kill him with a single thought suddenly became an amazing rush.
Blake fucked Lilith’s face harder and harder as if at any moment he expected to suddenly find himself whisked out of her mouth and nailed naked to the stone frontage of her magically created castle.
He ached and screamed. He felt his orgasm rising fast, too late to hold back. He jerked Lilith’s head up and back – off his dick – as he came in rhythmic thrusts, his semen smattering over her face. Lilith’s eyes were closed. She moaned a little as the droplets hit her. Blake’s hips jerked again and again and then finally stopped.
He lifted Lilith, still handcuffed, into his lap and turned her around so she was cradled in his arms like a baby. Lilith was a shade taller than he was. Maybe three-quarters of an inch. But with her nestled like this he felt like the strong man. He felt like Alfie Friday.
He slipped one hand between Lilith’s legs, working his fingers into her silk-sheer underwear. Then he slowly rubbed her hot tight clit as he dipped his head and licked her face clean, pushing as much of his come as he could into her eager mouth. Kissing her finally, twirling his fingers around her clit as he spun her on the edge of her orgasm for a few moments before letting her come, feeling her buck and twist in his arms.
Blake watched Lilith’s face as her eyes fluttered open.
‘Thanks,’ she said softly, bringing her hands from behind her back and holding out the handcuffs he hadn’t unlocked.
He took them, feeling his knowledge of how powerful she really was return like a sickening wave.
‘I’ve got you a present,’ Lilith said, standing up.
‘You have?’ said Blake. ‘That’s, er, nice of you.’
Lilith was standing over him. Her suit was creased and rumpled. She was listing to one side because she only had one of her stilettos on. Her shoeless leg’s stocking had also popped off its suspenders while Blake was working her clit and was pooled around her ankle. Her hair was almost as wild and untamed looking as Blake’s own. One hand was behind her back. ‘Do you want to try and guess what it is?’
‘Is it a broomstick? Actually I’ve always wondered if a man could learn to –’
‘Ha! Oh, God, no. A man on a broomstick? That’d never work. How would you stay on?’
‘What?’
‘Well how would you mount yourself on the knout? Are you going to stick it up your arse?’
Blake blinked. ‘What? Are you trying to say that you . . .?’ Blake shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re winding me up.’
‘You think? Anyway,’ said Lilith, casually oblivious, ‘it’s not a broomstick. It’s a sword. A magic sword.’
Blake tried to look around her body, as she still hadn’t revealed what she was holding. ‘You mean a sword, as in, a real sword. This isn’t an ironic witch thing? It is actually a sword?’
Lilith smiled and brought the sword she was holding from behind her back. A long delicate small-sword. Its slender flexible blade glittered, the complex pattern of its hilt fitting snugly over Lilith’s bony knuckles. Blake gasped out loud, certain his dick would have twitched at the sight of it if he wasn’t feeling so spent. ‘Oh! I, er, I’ve actually always wanted a sword,’ he said, his voice sounding rather breathy.
Lilith smiled, and turned it around, taking the blade carefully and holding the hilt out to him. He stood up and took it from her.
‘What’s magic about it?’ he said, taking half a step back to balance himself and then cutting at the air almost reverently.
‘Oh,’ said Lilith, ‘well. Swords are lovely and everything, but they can be rather cumbersome. That one, Tabernacle, fits right in your pocket.’
‘Wow,’ Blake said, childish and awed.
‘Swords have meaning, Tabernacle. You know that.’
‘Destiny,’ said Blake. He knew the score. ‘If a witch gives you a sword, it’s not for nothing.’
Lilith nodded. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. A man like you. I know you know what to do with a sword.’
‘And Iris? Alfie? The intervention?’
Lilith smiled. ‘Leave it all to me.’
13
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ Iris said, sitting up. A dark-skinned Asian man dressed all in black – a soft thin expensive-looking polo-neck and jeans – had just unfastened her restraints.
He held out a hand and Iris shook it. ‘I’m Vikram,’ he said, ‘Vikram Rose. Dr Cobalt wants me to work with you.’
‘Work with me?’
‘On the new werewolf project. Assessing the threat. Formulating a strategy. Just basics. I’m Cobalt trained as far as vampires go. I just need you to fill in the gaps. We need to sweep.’
‘To sweep?’
‘That’s what you call it, right? I’ve read the files. You sweep for stray lycans at full moon.’
Iris looked up at the drip still attached to her. ‘I don’t think I’m really ready to . . .’
Vikram grinned. ‘Oh I can take care of that for you.’ He moved closer and bent ove
r Iris’s arm, efficiently removing the drip and covering the needle set into her arm with a sticking plaster.
‘Er . . .’ said Iris, suddenly aware, as Vikram bent over her, so close, that she was only wearing a backless hospital gown. ‘Well, I need to get dressed.’
‘I have some clothes for you.’ Vikram pointed to the long low cupboard that ran under the dark window. A small stack of familiar dark red sat there.
Iris twisted and slipped out of bed. She made her wobbly way over to the window. Her old uniform, darkred army fatigues. They’d been washed and pressed – they would’ve needed it after the state she was in when Blake found her; in fact, she was surprised they hadn’t been incinerated. But, despite the laundry processing, something about the smell of them still made Iris ache with nostalgia. Her uniform, practically a part of her. She sighed, removing her hospital gown as Vikram turned away.
Iris wasn’t ashamed of nudity, certainly not in practical matters like these. She looked at the back of Vikram’s head. He had shaggily straight dark hair that grazed the collar of his black sweater at the back. He had almost as much hair as Blake, although his was far sleeker. Blake was a man who could exert control over almost anything, except, for some reason, his own hair. Vikram was tall, almost Alfie-tall, but unlike Alfie he was waif thin, supermodel thin. His sweater and black jeans hung off his skeleton. There was almost nothing to him.
‘I’m done,’ Iris said, fastening the last buttons of her shirt.
Vikram turned. His face was nice, well balanced, regal. All about his nose and cheekbones. He couldn’t have been much older than 25.
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