by Dean, Cate
Eric cradled her hand. “I picked the sapphire because I personally hate diamonds. Too cold. I had no idea—”
“That it would magnify my power?” She kept her gaze on the ring, afraid to see the doubt she expected in his eyes. “I’ve been reading up, and it can have some powerful mojo. It’s going to mean a giant step forward in my training—”
“Annie.” Eric lifted her chin, waited until she met his eyes. There was no doubt in the beautiful blue depths, only concern. “I walked into this relationship already knowing what you are—Claire told me, when I found out about her and Marcus.”
She swallowed, easing herself out of his grip and off his lap. “That explains your decided lack of surprise when Marcus spilled my secret. No—” She pulled away when he tried to put his arms around her. “You need to understand that I am a witch. Not a woman dabbling as a hobby. A witch, capital W, with all the possible and impossible nastiness.”
“I don’t—”
“If you’re going to walk away, do it right now. Because if you stay, it’s forever—even if I have to break my promise to Claire and throw a love spell at you to make that happen.”
Eric took her hands. “No love spell will be necessary.” She wanted to cry when he spread one of her hands over his heart, laid his on top of it. “You stole this from the first. No spell necessary. I don’t remember much from the time I was under Natasha’s influence. But I remembered you, blondie. I always remembered you.”
“Oh, damn—here come the tears.”
He pulled her forward, and she wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Rubbing her back, he kissed the top of her head, her temple, then worked his way down until he reached the corner of her mouth. She turned her head so their lips met, and forgot her tears as she sank into the kiss.
Eric picked her up and carried her to the sofa, taking them back where they started, with her curled in his lap. She loved the fact that he could pick her up without any effort, loved that she could rest her head on his shoulder without leaning down. Hell, she just loved him, and was so grateful that he felt the same.
Kissing her forehead, he brushed her hair back, letting a curl twist around one finger. “How is Claire?”
“Much better.” Relief spread through her again, knowing it was true, and no longer a dream, a hope buried deep in her heart. “She’s coming back to the store tomorrow. First time since she’s been back.”
“Nervous?”
“Of course not.” He just looked at her. “Okay—yeah, maybe a little. A lot.” She slid down to the sofa next to him, leaned her head against the back. “It’s almost become my store the last couple of months. I don’t know how easy that’ll be to give up. But I am so glad she’s back I’ll walk away if that’s what she needs.”
“You’re a good friend, Annie.” He twined their fingers together. “And Claire knows how much you love her. If anything, I expect she’ll be thrilled with what you’ve done, and want you to stay.”
“From your lips.” She sighed, letting the nerves go. They would be waiting for her in the morning. “Now bring those lips on over here, and I’ll think about making you dinner.”
Laughter burst out of her when he tackled her—then she let out a shriek as they tumbled to the rug. In response, her ring flashed blue sparks. Eric caught her hand before she could hide it.
“I will always be amazed by that. And you having an accurate mood ring will be a real side benefit.”
“Smartass.” Her desire to smack him faded when he kissed her hand, the sparks dancing in his clear blue eyes. “It’s a good thing I love you, or you’d be toad bait right now.”
“A horrible and probably short fate avoided.” He kissed her hand again, used it to pull her in. “As a token of my eternal gratitude, I’ll be cooking you dinner.” A wicked smile crossed his face, sent a thrill shooting through her. “Later.”
“Keep looking at me like that, and it’ll be much later.”
His kiss just got interesting when the doorbell rang. Eric looked at her. “Expecting someone?”
“No—the address is so new hardly anyone knows I’m here.”
He lifted her up, pushed her toward the hallway. “Get in the bedroom, lock the door. You have 911 punched in, and hit send if you hear anything—”
“I’m not deserting—”
“It could be one of them, Annie. We don’t know the anger died with Jane—”
“I do.” He stared at her. “I felt it, when Claire toasted her. There was nothing left. Answer the door, Eric.”
He kept her behind him, slid the safety chain on, then inched the door open.
A familiar voice floated in, and she smiled.
“What took you so long? Damn, I didn’t interrupt you two lovebirds, did I?”
“Jeff?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Annie stepped in front of Eric. “Hi, Jeff—one second.” She shut the door and slid the safety chain off before pulling it wide. “Come in—it’s good to see you.” She raised one eyebrow as she looked over at Eric. “How did you know where to find us?”
“Mr. Organization.” He pointed at Eric. “Fired off a text, probably while you were still moving. It’s habit with us—I moved around so much with the Marines, first thing I always did was update him. The one or two times he uprooted, he did the same.”
“Please—sit down. We were just about to have dinner.” She heard Eric choke back a laugh. “Want to join us?”
“I’m here to take you out—for the promised champagne, and a bribe of dinner, so you all can tell me what really happened in that town. I know what they reported isn’t what went down.”
“Jeff—man, we can’t—”
“Invitation accepted,” Annie said. She held up her hand when Eric started to protest. “He’s your oldest friend, and he got us up there so we could help. I figure you’ll tell him eventually, so he might as well get the whole story while it’s fresh. And being—ex-military?” He nodded. “I’m thinking you can keep a secret. Besides, no one would believe you. That, or they’d give you a nice long stay in a pretty, white padded room.”
Jeff laughed, that brilliant smile she remembered transforming his rugged face. “This is going to be one hell of a story. I’ve got the champagne in my car, so we can order in. No eavesdroppers.” Taking Annie’s hand, he kissed it. “Good to see you again, darlin’. Eric, call back your wandering mind—you’ve got a story to tell. I’ll go get the champagne.”
He was out the door before Annie could do more than nod. She turned to Eric, and laughed; he looked shell-shocked. “Is your friend always so take charge?”
“Drill sergeant, Marines. So—yeah. Can we really tell him?”
She slipped her hand into his. “Do you trust him?”
“With my life.”
“Then, yeah.” She leaned in and kissed him. “We can.”
SIXTEEN
After two weeks of not so forced bed rest, Claire stepped into her shop. Tears stung her eyes, lodged in her throat. It looked the same.
Standing behind the counter, Annie grinned. “Welcome back.”
“You didn’t—why didn’t you change anything?”
“Oh, there are little spots, here and there. You’ll see them when you look around. But you made this place what it is, and I figured why mess with perfection?”
With a watery laugh, Claire moved to her. Annie met her halfway, hugging her so tightly Claire could barely take in a breath. When she let go, Claire wiped at her eyes, started to touch things as she moved around.
Annie was right. Claire noticed where she expanded certain stock, condensed items that never sold well, and changed the flow just enough so the customers could impulse buy their way through the shop. Swallowing more tears, she halted at the back, pressed her fingers to her eyes.
She never expected to stand here again, to breathe in the scent of lavender and the subtle spice of incense. Coming home wasn’t real, until now.
“Hey—” One arm curled
around her waist. More than anything, Annie’s acceptance of her left Claire speechless, and deeply grateful. “There’s someone here to see you.”
The smile should have warned her.
She stepped out of the back. Mildred toddled up to her, capturing her in a surprisingly strong embrace before Claire could escape, and started scolding the moment she let go.
“Where have you been all this time? Your assistant can’t read the cards worth spit, which means I’ve had to go to that snob Agatha over at The Witch’s Way, trying not to gag on all the patchouli she douses herself in.”
Claire couldn’t help herself. She let out a delighted laugh, took the old woman’s hands. “I’m happy to see you, Mildred. We will absolutely make an appointment for you.” With the ease of long practice, Claire guided her to the door. “I am back on full time starting tomorrow, so you come in then. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Claire closed the door and turned to Annie. “I should force you to do the reading, but since you apparently can’t read the cards worth spit, I suppose I’ll have to make the sacrifice.”
Annie bowed. “Thank you, my noble friend, for putting your head on the block for—uh-oh.”
Claire turned around, following Annie’s line of sight. Her heart skipped when she saw Marcus standing outside the door.
The moment they returned to Santa Luna, he thanked Eric for tending him, refused to look at her, and climbed out of the van, walking away. Since then there had been nothing—no note, no phone call—nothing to let her know he was all right. Until now.
He wore his customary black, his left arm in a sling. She noticed the silver hamsa earring back in place, winking through his hair. His face was pale and remote as marble. Bracing herself, she opened the door and stepped aside.
“It’s good to see you, Marcus.” He looked down at her. None of the gold that marked his power laced the jade green eyes. “Did you want to sit—”
“I am no invalid.” More than anger snapped through his voice. It was the other that kept Claire from booting him out.
“Okay.” Annie moved around the counter, a too wide smile on her face. “Hey, Marcus. Missed you around here.” She backed across the shop. “I’m going to go somewhere, and do—something.”
Claire watched her best friend desert her—and did not blame her one bit.
With a steadying breath, she turned and faced Marcus. “The offer to sit was out of courtesy. I would do it even for a stranger.”
Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I seem to be offending everyone, even those strangers. Forgive me, Claire.” When he lowered his hand the anger was gone, replaced by a bone deep exhaustion.
“Sit. Now.” She led him to the reading table, then grabbed two bottles of water from the small fridge in the back room and—her leftover roast beef sandwich. An ache speared through her.
Setting everything on the table, she watched him take a long drink of the water, and smile when he opened the sandwich. “Please, tell me this is one of Lily’s creations.”
“The one and only.” He took a bite, humming with pleasure as he devoured the rest of it. Color returned to his face, and he eased back in the chair, tipping the bottle for the last of the water. “Better?”
He nodded, set the empty bottle on the table. “Claire—”
“No apologies, no explanations. What you endured was beyond enduring, and I am to blame for it.”
Marcus surged to his feet. “I have never—”
“And I am grateful—Marcus, no—”
He kept coming around the table and pulled Claire to her feet, right into his embrace. She held on, his body warm, strong, and no longer wracked by the poison that nearly killed him.
“Even knowing what would happen after, I would come for you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, tightening his grip. “I will always come for you, sweet, should you need me.”
Pain squeezed her heart, and she closed her eyes. “You’re leaving.”
He let out his breath, eased back. “I have no choice. I need to feel the sun I was created under, to touch the sand that I walked before Karana—before my wife died.” His hand slid up her back, into her hair. “I am still surprised, every time I look at you, that my heart can be touched again, can feel again.”
Claire reached up to cradle his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I am not healing.”
She let out her breath. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”
“I hoped—” He shook his head and pulled away, turning to face the front of the shop. “Returning home may not make a difference, but I must try. It is where I was made, and my essence is tied to the land. My power has diminished to the point I can no longer—it does not matter.” He ran his good hand through his hair, the wild curls brushing his shoulders. “I never planned to stay, when I first came here. Now I find myself unable to leave. Even when I must.”
Swallowing, Claire moved to him, slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. He didn’t move, simply watched her, those green eyes dark, unreadable. Before she could talk herself out of it she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
With a groan, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her off her feet. Claire simply held on as he deepened the kiss, his heat coiling around her heart. She knew he could cajole, entice, charm—instead he just gave.
He broke off the kiss, staring down at her. Then he cursed under his breath and came back for more. She let out a startled gasp, and the heat burst through her. Her own curse had him smiling against her lips, before he gently and thoroughly explored every inch of them.
When they finally came up for air, Marcus brushed his lips over hers. “I meant to leave without knowing the taste of you, the feel of you.” He lowered her to the floor, brushed her cheek. “I don’t know if returning will be possible.”
Fear clutched her. “Marcus—”
“For a Jinn, a wound to our power equals constant, bone deep pain. And a not so pleasant temper to go with it.”
“God above—” Claire took his hand, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away. “Is that the reason for your disappearing act?”
“I owe you my life, Claire. I did not want to repay you with anger.”
“I can handle the anger, Jinn.”
A smile flashed across his face. “I have no doubt.” That smile faded as he swallowed, closing his eyes.
“Marcus—”
“All right.” He twined their fingers together. “My plane leaves tonight.”
Claire leaned against him, her free hand sliding around his waist. She refused to give in to the tears that stung her eyes. Later, after he was gone. Looking up at him, she made her decision. “Stay here. I’m going to close up the shop.”
“Claire.” He looked panicked. “There is no need to say goodbye at the airport—”
“Oh, I’m not going to the airport.” She let go of him and freed her hand, backing toward the door. “But you are getting more than a taste, Jinn, before you leave.”
*
Sprawled on top of Marcus, Claire took in a shaky breath. Every sweaty inch ached, in an incredibly satisfying way.
She rarely allowed this kind of contact, because she was never sure how she would react if she lost control. But Marcus was more than a match, even if she had still been a demon.
Under her, Marcus groaned.
“Oh, God—” She started to slide off him. His right hand spread across her back, held her. “I’m not hurting you?”
“You have ruined me. But I am feeling little pain at the moment.” Smiling, she kissed his shoulder. Just above the bandage hiding his wound. His hand moved up her back, fingers tracing the knife scar left by Natasha. “And you did not lose all your magic.”
She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“My pleasure. Truly.”
Laughing, she slipped over his equally sweaty chest to kiss him. He trapped her there, fingers tangling in her hair as he stretched the kiss out. They were both breathless by
the time he let her go.
Claire pressed her face into his throat, relishing the feel of him against her skin, the taste of him against her lips. Hot, salty, with a touch of exotic spice.
He brushed his hand through her hair, gentle, soothing. “I miss the beauty of your length, how it followed every graceful move. I wanted nothing more than to bury my hands in it.” He pulled a strand free, let it fall to her shoulder. “But this does suit you, my beautiful mortal.”
Claire felt the subtle brush of his charm, as if he tested her resistance. “Don’t bother trying, Marcus. I’m still immune to your tricks.”
Laughter rumbled against her ear. “My—what did you call it once? Ah, hocus pocus. It never did work on you, and that is a first for me. I have always been able to work my way in. But you,” he cupped her chin and tilted it up until their eyes met. “You flicked me away like an annoying insect, every time.” She swallowed when he kissed his way down her face, whispering against her lips. “It is how I know what I feel for you is real, and not the flashback from my own manipulation.”
He kissed her, with such tenderness her throat ached. She pulled back and laid her head on his chest to keep him from seeing the tears that filled her eyes. Instead of confronting, or asking, he simply rubbed the length of her back, until she relaxed under the smooth, gentle strokes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I am sorry, sweet. I didn’t intend for my words to—”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” She lifted her head. “All of—this, caught me off guard. And knowing that you’ll be leaving—”
“I cannot stay.”
“And I understand. I do, Marcus; when I was trapped in that jail cell, hurting, all I could think about was getting home. It kept me from giving up.”
His fingers brushed her cheek, then curved over her shoulder and trailed down her arm, touching the bandage on her wrist. “How is it?”
“Healing. Slowly.” Along with her power, she lost her ability to mend quickly. In addition, every injury she earned in the last eighty years decided to remind her of its existence. Loudly. “And your arm?”
