by Billi Jean
The demons had seen her this way. They’d harmed her, hurt her face and if he guessed right by the way she held herself too stiffly, her ribs or stomach were painful as well. The rough ropes had scraped her ankles and arms, but with fresh air, he knew they should heal quickly enough. He refused to ease her wrists.
He needed to keep her as far away—physically and mentally—from him as possible. He shouldn’t feel this for her. Shouldn’t want her this badly. The guilt he’d felt stroking off to the pictures he’d found of her had been minuscule in comparison to the mind-blowing orgasms he’d experienced. Now she was a breath away, tied and helpless.
He forced himself to ignore how damned primal that made him feel. And how her sexy comebacks stirred something in his chest. Humour, maybe.
She was a distraction and if he gave this witch an inch—any reaction other than business—she’d take him for miles.
Already he felt himself hardening further at the scent of her. Heather and fresh, warm sunshine mixed with hot, wet woman. That’s what she reminded him of—lazy days spent under the summer sun as a lad, relaxing in the barley—and hiding from his chores, no doubt—while he dreamt of a woman that wanted him like no other.
She stirred him in ways he hadn’t expected. Why think of those long ago dreams now?
She’d not spoken again since he’d drawn his knife. No doubt, she feared him, but he guessed she was also indignant. Her eyes were icy now, lacking anything other than clear, stubborn pride. She likely believed he’d cave and release her. There wasn’t a chance of that. He needed her, and not for what his body demanded.
After years of seeking vengeance, he found the one way to reach the magic user, Zith, and when he did, the mage would die. Zith wanted Sorcha. He wanted her badly enough to trade her for a useless pendant he believed Alex would break his pack’s alliances to gain. The pendant meant nothing to him. The mage’s blood on his blade—his life spilling out on the dirt with Alex above him making certain the bastard knew who’d ended his life—meant everything. And now, thanks to one beautiful witch, he’d gain his vengeance.
“We leave. Now.”
“You have got to be insane. I am not—”
He cut her off simply by jerking her closer. Eventually, he knew, she’d piss him off. Already he was tense, fighting an erection that wasn’t listening to him. It had been far too long since he’d bedded a wench, but Sorcha wasn’t a wench. She was a beautiful, fiery witch. And worse, after experiencing what it felt like to imagine bedding her, they’d never survive if he finally did bed her. Her bravery—as foolish as it was—was turning him on even more.
He bent, tore off a piece of her silky nightgown—trying to hold in the jealous growl that the demons, and maybe even Agni, had seen her in it—and used it to try to gag her.
She bit him. Hard.
His shaft pressed against the zipper of his jeans sending a shot of painful arousal through him. Every muscle strained as he fought the desire to sink into her in hard, heavy thrusts of his hips to the sounds of her passionate cries of pleasure.
When he could touch her and not harm her, he brought her flush against him, only keeping her lower body clear of his. He got a full dose of her tantalising scent, but he also made sure she understood he was one hell of a lot more powerful than she was.
“Do you need a lesson in why you shouldno’ bite a man like—”
“I doubt I will ever want to bite anyone again you knuckle dragging Neanderthal, so go ahead. If you think you’re going to—ahhh!”
He tackled her against the car, jammed the cloth in her mouth then tied it off behind her head. Her crimson hair got in the way, and he fought to keep himself from testing the silken strands in his fingers. As soon as he’d got the knot tied off, he held her pinned so he could gain his balance before letting her up. Her hair was smooth and long. It brushed against his bare arms and neck, sending spikes of pleasure along his neglected body. When was the last time he’d bedded a woman? Felt soft flesh encase his cock? Held someone close as he spent himself? Held a woman while she slept?
Had he ever held a woman while she slept? If he had, the memory lay long forgotten and lost to him now.
Sorcha was stiff, her smaller, softer body unyielding and her breathless pants not from passion, but from rage. She practically shook with it. Her swift anger intrigued him, but the damn chit would hurt herself.
He tugged her hair gently out of the knot, swept more off her face, and pulled her up without meeting her eyes. He walked them to his parked truck, opened the side door, picked her up and dumped her inside on her butt. She hissed and winced when he did, but he’d not harmed her, the seats were comfortable. But the demons had. And with her mouth bound, he couldn’t ask her what pained her.
Damn it. He shouldn’t care. But he did. He wet the cloth he’d brought with a sleeping potion and covered her gagged mouth with it. He watched her eyes widen as she breathed in then slowly eased closed, but not before he saw the spark of anger in their jade depths.
Seven days. He had only to survive the next seven days—keep her alive and untouched—and he’d have all he’d ever wanted.
Seven days and his sword would drink the blood of his enemy.
Chapter Three
“You want to run that by me again because seriously, Alex, you have got to be joking and you, well, you’re not a funny kinda guy.” Markee shifted his hair away from his eyes to see Alex better. He didn’t dare glance at Alex’s witch. Just thinking of what Alex had done to Sorcha made Markee’s balls practically disappear in his body.
Alex grimaced and scowled at him. “She’s a means to an end. I won’t let her be hurt. I will use her, that’s all.”
“What the hell did you give her? I mean, how is she here?”
“She’s simply sleeping—”
“Yeah, that I get, Alex, but what did you do to get her here?”
“I bound her powers. Now, do you have the supplies I asked for?”
Markee hung his head, but he waved towards the four-wheel drive Land Rover Defender. He’d packed it full of everything Alex had texted him he needed, but damn if he’d known this was what Alex needed it for…
“Good.”
“Alrick—”
Alex cut him off with a snort. “Alrick is busy. He’s forgotten what it’s like to fight for what’s right. This is right.”
“At the expense of what?”
“Markee, go back to the pack. I will see you in seven days’ time.”
Markee exhaled and said, “Look, Alex, I can’t just let you—”
Alex grabbed him by his shirt and jerked him close. Markee simply stood there, amazed at the rage on Alex’s features. Alex never, ever displayed emotions.
“Markee, I don’t have the time for this. There is nothing in life that means more than honour. Nothing,” he said. “You owe me, if you can’t remember that, I’ll remind you, pup. I’m not the one breaking the pack laws.”
Markee’s wolf growled, pacing closer to the surface. Alex was older, perhaps stronger, but they were both alpha in a pack that bred fierce alphas. He knew without allowing his wolf freedom, Alex would still wipe the floor with him but Markee would damn well make him suffer in the process. Instead, he dislodged Alex with a snarl.
“First, there’s more to life, Alex. Our people. The pack. Second, you can’t blackmail me with shit like that since you don’t even listen to your fucking wolf!”
Alex snapped his head back and scowled at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Like hell I don’t. Are you saying I’m not of the pack?”
“I’m sayin’ you’re damn stubborn and blame your wolf for—”
“Enough. You did what I asked, I will repay you when I can.”
Markee grumbled at Alex’s unexpected admission. Hell, he didn’t want paid back. It wasn’t the money. “Shit, man, this could start something you won’t be able to stop simply by returning her. If she’s harmed when you find Zith—”
“She won’t be harmed,” Alex sn
arled then muttered, “If she simply follows my rules.”
Ah hell. As far as he knew, Sorcha wrote the rules. “Alex, you’re talking about one of the most—no scratch that—the strongest witch of this age, man!”
“Not without her powers. She’s just a woman.” Alex jammed his fists on his hips, but no other sign of anger showed on his face. But something showed, something that had Markee reeling. Alex glanced to where Sorcha slept in his truck and possessiveness flickered in his expression.
Markee’s ass hit the side of his parked BMW. Alex wanted Sorcha. Holy fuck. And Alex was using him to…what?
Alex wasn’t lying. He held the need for his revenge above anything else. But that look—the concern, the tension in Alex’s shoulders—said much more. Alex saw Sorcha as his, did that mean he wanted her more than his revenge? Markee studied Alex silently, but found no sign of the other man’s wolf rising to the surface. Not surprising since Alex never, ever let his wolf free. Unlike Markee who broke his uncle’s laws to shift to his wolf form. Damn it, he shouldn’t allow this. What if Alex hurt her accidently? But what if Sorcha could help Alex forgive his wolf?
Alex looked up then and Markee’s thoughts shut down. Alex more than wanted her, the man worried over her already. Was Sorcha his mate? Could a Lykae know his mate without his wolf?
Sighing heavily Alex ran a hand through his short hair. Whatever the woman was to him, she clearly had Alex off his game. “She’ll be fine. Now, go. I’ll check in. Just get things ready, like we agreed, eh?”
If Sorcha was Alex’s mate, Markee had to give Alex this chance to find that out. The hard ass general was used to control. What would he do when his woman ripped it from him? Markee almost smiled.
“Yeah, it’s all set up. Seven days—eight tops, then I’m going to have to report in.” He tried to keep the grumble out of his tone, but this could bring the entire Wiccan world down on their pack. “You should let me call in more aid—”
“No, just you. I’ll have this done in a week.” Alex stomped off and Markee watched him bend and carefully pick Sorcha up. She appeared unconscious—he prayed she was—and put her in the back of the Rover before walking around to the front and getting in. The arrogant wolf didn’t even wave. He simply started the vehicle and took off on the dirt road.
To where? Where did he think he was going to go that he could hide Sorcha from her coven and kill a warlock so powerful no one could find him?
Markee examined his scuffed boots again and realised that no matter what, he’d have to simply sit tight and hide if possible from all other immortals until Alex put Sorcha back right where she belonged—without one hair on her head harmed.
Sorcha tried for hours to reach her power. Nothing. Not even a glimmer. She couldn’t get past that grey mist. She’d passed out for what felt like the entire night with her hands tied and a gag in her mouth. She’d woken once and had heard Alex talking to someone—a younger Lykae named Markee—then had passed out and woken up stiff, sore and in a bumpy, uncomfortable ride with her hands numb. Only this time, in a new vehicle.
He’d drugged her. Used something to make her sleep. Again.
Not sensing someone touching her and moving her freaked her out. No one had ever sneaked up on her. Well, that wasn’t exactly true any longer was it? The disgusting demon duo and now Alex the jerk both had.
She shifted uncomfortably on the seat. Her hands were so deadened she couldn’t even tell if they still existed. She had a feeling she was glad of that. The ropes hurt bad enough, but when the ropes were removed she knew the pain would simply grow. Instead of worrying over her hurts, she focused on that shadowy curtain keeping her from her magic. She’d noticed that it had begun to soften under her probing, allowing her to sneak some of her power. Excited, she closed her eyes tight and tried to unravel her bindings. Nothing, nothing but a sharp pain in her head followed by a small, really tiny rush of power. She heard Alex walking around the vehicle.
Damn it, do something, do something. You’re in an SUV, tied and he’s taking you somewhere. Suddenly she smiled. Ah, yes, he’s taking you somewhere. Concentrating again, she used her miniscule amount of power to stab one of the tyres. Swiftly she hit the spare with another shot. Casting the spell had hurt. The small use of power, such as a child could do while doing back flips, had felt like someone had stuck her with a branch of nettles.
The poison had to be something powerful.
She had tried to tease out the different components from the nasty potion—antidote she assumed—he’d forced on her, only a few minutes before, but couldn’t break the ingredients down enough. So far, the essence frightened her. The need for an antidote frightened her as well. Did the mean that whatever was blocking her powers would always block her powers? Or did it mean whatever nastiness Alex fed her was blocking her powers? She knew several spells that used such herbs, but too many to discover the exact counter spell.
Alex swore and she smiled around her gag. Ah, yes, the truck tilted a bit, didn’t it? Her spell must have worked. From beyond the windows of the vehicle, she heard him doing something under her, then the sound of more swearing. He’s discovered the flat spare, she thought with a surge of happiness. The jerk thought she’d make this easy, that she’d be quiet and simply do what he said, when he said it? The guy had some lessons to learn. She’d never jumped in her life when someone snapped. She’d be damned if she would now.
If she could touch her power after the antidote, did this mean that before he gave her that nasty stuff she’d have more power too? Or would she be at her weakest, then right after she’d be stronger?
Maybe he counted on that and thought she’d somehow fool this mage into thinking she was powerless, but actually be able to use her spells. Well, he was wrong, wasn’t he? She could barely flatten a tyre. If this was his plan, he’d miscalculated. Worse, there were so many things she didn’t know, she had no idea where to start with him—if he took the gag off.
She knew every name of every warlock and couldn’t place Zith. Alex had cut Markee off too quickly, but she’d heard that name—and knew that had to be what drove Alex to such lengths for his revenge.
In an odd way, she could understand the need for vengeance, but not right now.
Now she needed more information. Like why would a wolf—one that hated magic in particular—want Zith dead so badly he’d kidnap her? A move he had to realise would endanger his pack.
A shudder rocked the vehicle followed by a crash. “Sonofabitch!”
She rested her head against the window. The man said that a lot.
Her door jerked open and a sweaty, dirty-faced pissed off Alex faced her. His eyes were dark brown like milk chocolate Godiva bars. Or mud. Her vote was for mud.
He jerked her closer by his jacket. He was angry, but nothing of his inner beast reflected in his eyes. If it did, they would shift, become lighter. Softer. Wilder, she imagined.
“Witch, if I learn you did this, you will pay in ways you never dreamt possible.”
Oh, my. Bless his heart—that sounded oddly sexy.
Not. No thinking the wolf sexy at all. You will ignore how hot he looks all sweaty. And how much you’d like to trace that drop of perspiration along his jaw, and much, much lower. No tracing. No licking. No!
He didn’t seem to know what to do with her when she stared at him. He blinked, then frowned harder, a truly impressive scowl that should’ve made her knees knock but only managed to make her hotter. And explained the lines he had near his nose and eyes. Frown lines.
How poetic.
When he didn’t speak, she simply rested her head on the back seat’s headrest. He grabbed hold of her arm and hauled her out of the Rover.
He loved to haul, her Alex did.
She hoped he didn’t mind too much, her calling him that. Her Alex. It had a nice ring to it. Since he couldn’t hear her, since he didn’t seem to understand they were mates, since he was broken and couldn’t feel his wolf—well, yeah, all that—she hoped he didn’t min
d too much her silently claiming him. Besides when she did get this gag off, she’d call him much more creative names.
Bastard.
Misbegotten son of a goat.
Kidnapping Neanderthal.
“We walk.”
She blinked at him against the glare of the midday sun and scanned the area. A wave of realisation hit her like a smack to the head.
They were in Scotland. How the heck he’d got her here from the States didn’t matter. They were here. In her homeland. Her chest swelled with emotion. It had been too long. Now she was here with Alex. Did he know that he was responsible for her move to the New World? No, of course not.
She watched him drag out one of those impossible-to-get-flat map rectangles, try to lie it flat and scan a compass, then the sun before tracing a long finger along the rumpled paper. Didn’t he remember his homeland?
I thought he was born here.
Here is pretty big, Sorcha.
Ah, yes. Scotia. How I missed you. Although please excuse my mate, since he’s a blockhead who can’t possibly know what he’s doing.
She was losing it—after having no one to talk to for so long she was beginning to have conversations with herself. Normally that’d not be an issue. Talking to herself. She was rarely alone. Rarely without someone needing something—a spell, a cure, a healing, a potion, a reading, anything and everything.
Suddenly she looked around at the brilliant greens and blues of her homeland. She was alone. Well, she considered, casting a look at Alex’s stiff back, and decided yeah, she was. Alone and no one bugging her, no one calling, dropping in, stopping by…
Peace, of a sort, eased into her tired body. Peace of the sort you got when your hands still ached and you were in your nightgown covered with a too large jacket.
She butted her shoulder against Alex’s back. He jerked as if she’d goosed his very sexy butt.
She rolled her eyes and jerked her head towards the landscape, then at her body. He exhaled and turned away.
