by Hazel Hunter
Someone pounded on the closed door. “Mr. Conleth? Is everything all right?”
“Had her parents told you they were leaving?” Matteo demanded, dragging Conleth to the door. “Or was their death something you improvised?”
There was more pounding on the door.
“Be right there!” Naldo answered, helping Natalia as they followed Matteo.
Conleth tried to turn to Natalia. “He has no proof!”
“No, of course not,” Matteo said, barely under control. “But it never made sense. Not for a moment. Everyone assumed that the rogue Wiccans killed my partner.” He glanced over his shoulder at Natalia’s stricken face. “But the Truccos were not fire Wiccans.” He stopped at the door and glared into Conleth’s calm eyes. “Only you control fire. Correct, Mr. Conleth?” There was another knock and someone tried the locked door handle. “So now you will take your final bow. And when you have, the Magus Corps will want to have a word with you.”
Matteo nodded to Naldo and indicated the door. As he opened it, Matteo let Conleth go and brought Natalia to his side.
“I am sorry, amore mio,” he whispered. “This is not what I wanted.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said, but her pained face said otherwise.
The Bureau of Reclamation man stood in the doorway, a giant grin on his face. “That was incredible!” Buchanan gushed. “I thought it was just going to be the straitjacket escape!” He indicated behind him with a thumb over his shoulder. “That crowd is about ready to riot. Can you come and let them applaud or something?”
Conleth straightened his top hat and smoothed his mustache. “Of course,” he said, “of course.” Without looking at Natalia, he offered her his elbow. “We would be delighted.”
Though she hesitated, Matteo watched her lips press into a thin line before she took Conleth’s arm.
• • • • •
Jude waited behind the cameras, dancing from foot to foot. Though he hadn’t planned it, he couldn’t have asked for anything better. The crowd was buzzing about how the magician had “flown.” He smirked. So that was the witch’s power.
“Here they come,” said a reporter. He positioned himself in front of the camera as a glaring light on it came on. “Just moments ago,” he said excitedly, looking directly into the lens, “visitors here at Hoover Dam were witness to the most spectacular magic act ever caught on film.”
More cameras lit up and reporters began their spiels.
Conleth and the witch were crossing the bridge from the tower.
Jude glanced around him. He would show them all now, and they would finally see the truth.
• • • • •
As they walked toward the bank of cameras and bright lights, Natalie stole a long sideways glance at Conleth. Though a bruise had appeared along his jaw and the corner of his mouth was swollen, he held his head high, his focus on the crowd.
How could he be so calm?
Matteo had just accused him of murdering—she swallowed hard––her parents. Her mind raced back over the last nine years. He’d been everything to her, helping her through her grief, supporting them with money from the magic shows, making sure the Corps never found them.
Had that all been a lie?
Beyond him the crane was just visible against the darkening sky. Only short remnants of the burned ropes remained. They had been treated with gasoline, not acetone. The jammed lock flashed into her mind. Conleth was the master of locks.
Although she released his elbow, he quickly snatched up her hand. She yanked it free and pushed him away.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, staring into cold eyes she hardly recognized. “How could you–”
A wild scream came from out of nowhere. She looked up to see a man running at them—at her—screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Witch!” he yelled. Backlit by the camera lights she couldn’t see his face, but he was waving his hands as he ran at full tilt. “She’s a witch! I’ll prove it!”
Natalie stared at him for a moment too long. By the time she tried to move away, he was on her.
But just as she ducked and cowered away, Conleth stepped between them. Both men grunted as they careened off at an angle—directly for the edge of the bridge.
“No!” the man yelled.
Conleth had wrapped his long, thin arms around him, and seemed to be propelling them even faster.
“Conleth,” she gasped, as she watched in horror.
The pair barreled into the low cement barrier, and then disappeared over it.
Slack-mouthed, she looked at the empty air where they’d just been. She blinked as though her eyes were tricking her. Though she started forward, Matteo suddenly had her in his arms. Naldo rushed to the side of the bridge and looked over.
“No,” was all Matteo said as he restrained her.
Finally Naldo turned to meet their gazes, and slowly shook his head.
28
DURING THE ENTIRE ride back in the limo, Matteo had kept his arm around Natalia. Still in her costume and wearing his coat, she’d finally stopped trembling. As they exited the freeway, she stared out the tinted window. There’d been little talk, which Matteo understood.
Not for the first time he was glad for Naldo. His review of the security footage from the casino had showed that it was Conleth who had unlocked the stage door and let in the men who’d destroyed all his equipment. He had wanted the show relocated to the dam. Though Matteo hadn’t confirmed it, he’d likely been negotiating with the Bureau of Reclamation for weeks.
Naldo had also been thinking ahead by having the limo wait where its departure would be quick. Even as the car had left the dam, the police and emergency vehicles had been arriving. His friend’s fireworks, though planned for the finale, had provided just the distraction he’d needed. When the film crews reviewed their footage, it looked as though Conleth had flown to the rescue. They were sure he’d used invisible wires suspended from the crane.
But most of the questions that had peppered Natalia as he’d rushed her to the waiting car had to do with the raving lunatic: who was he and why had he killed Conleth? Though the unknown man had been at some distance, Matteo had sensed another immortal. More than likely he’d been a Templar.
“Do you think he was trying to save me?” Natalia asked quietly, still looking out the window.
Though it was possible, it seemed far more likely to Matteo that Conleth had seen a chance at glory. His illness—if that had been true—might have hung over him like a personal death sentence. Or perhaps it was the fact that he would never be held accountable for the people he’d murdered. But as Matteo examined Natalia’s profile, and the way she bit her lower lip, he gave the old man the benefit of the doubt.
“What matters is that he did save you,” he said. “In the end, we are known by our actions.” He took her hand in his. “And for that, I will forever be in his debt.”
Though she smiled a little when she turned to him, it was one of those sad smiles.
“You can say that,” she said, “knowing he killed your partner?”
“It is enough that the truth has won out—painful though it is.”
“All those years,” she said. “I thought he loved me. I believed everything he said.” She shook her head. “What a fool.”
“No, amore mio,” he said. “We are never foolish to return love. For I do believe that he loved you.”
But the words that he left unsaid hung in the air between them. Conleth had loved her for how he could use her.
The limo pulled up to the gate in the chain link fence. The driver lowered his window and spoke to the guard.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“The airport,” he said.
“The airport?” she said, as the guard opened the gate and motioned them through. “But why?”
“Because, unless I am mistaken, the police will be looking for me.” The car pulled through and parked next to the private jet. He looked at her gravely. “And the M
agus Corps will be looking for us both.”
• • • • •
Natalie stared at him. “Why would the Corps look for you?”
But even as she said it, realization dawned. He’d done the one thing no Wiccan could ever do, particularly a Magus Corps officer: he’d used his ability in public, in front of a crowd, in front of cameras even. Her hand flew to her chest. He’d risked everything.
“Oh Matteo, I wasn’t even thinking!” But then she remembered the reaction of the crowd. “But no one believes it was real magic. Maybe we can talk to the Corps. Show them the tape.”
He smiled at her and shrugged. “Maybe in time.” He took both her hands. “Or maybe never. My search is over.” He looked out the window in the direction of the strip. “Hotel Paradiso is Naldo’s now.” He gazed into her eyes. “But if you want to stay–”
“I never want to see this place again,” she blurted out.
His smile brightened. “Never is a long time.”
A sharp rap on the window made her jump. A man in a pilot’s uniform stood peering in at them, then he pointed at his watch.
“Right,” Matteo said, as he opened the door to the din of jet engines. “We must go.”
As Matteo helped her out, the pilot tipped his hat to them.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Monti. We have Ms. Trucco’s and your luggage aboard, and our departure window is closing.”
“Of course, Captain,” Matteo answered. He ushered Natalie in front of him, and helped her up the short flight of steps. “Please depart as soon as you are ready.”
“Yes, sir!”
The interior of the jet was sleekly modern. Chrome and glass gleamed from low, small tables that were set between swiveling leather seats.
The captain followed them in, pulled the door closed behind them, and locked it. Without another word he headed toward the front of the plane. In the cockpit, Natalie could see that there was also a co-pilot, but then the door closed.
So many questions ran through her head: Where were they going? Were they wanted for questioning by the police. Out one of the small windows, she saw the limo pull away. Would they be pursued?
Matteo gathered her up in his arms. “Naldo and the lawyers will handle it,” he said, lightly stroking her hair. “We have broken no laws.”
It was like being at the center of a whirlwind. So much had happened. But as she held him and rested her face against his chest, she remembered the moment when she thought she’d die.
Tears sprang into her eyes as she looked up into his. His eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed about to speak, but she held a finger to his perfect lips. Though the jet began to move, she knew this couldn’t wait. She swallowed past the constriction in her throat.
“I love you, Matteo,” she said, smiling past the tears. “And I always have.”
His eyes glistened as he beamed down at her. “Amore mio, you are my life.”
As the jet turned, she lurched a little, and Matteo pulled her close. But instead of taking a seat he guided her to the back of the plane. They passed a small galley kitchen and went through a door she hadn’t noticed. Beyond it was a small bedroom. Matteo closed and locked the door.
“It’s not the Paradiso,” he said, “or a desert hideaway–”
“It’s perfect,” she said. “As long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we are.”
He solemnly took her face in his hands. “I love you, Natalia, now and always,” he said, and kissed her.
Her every sense seemed on overdrive. From the musky scent of his skin, and the feel of the stubble on his chin, to the cinnamon taste of his mouth, she drank him in. But more than that she kissed him back—really kissed him back. He was hers, body and spirit, and nothing stood in their way. She melded her lips to his, savoring the flood of emotions welling up inside her: joy that she was alive, a soaring elation that she was loved, and deep happiness to know that she loved him as much as he loved her. The bitter denial of the past fell away.
As the plane picked up speed, they fell onto the bed. Amidst the tangle of limbs and groping hands, their clothes came off in such a blur that she didn’t know who undressed who. But as Matteo reached into one of his pants pockets, she stopped him.
“No,” was all she said.
For a moment his eyes questioned her—but only for a moment.
As the engines roared, he lay back and pulled her astride him. Already in sync, she settled herself on his swollen length. As she reached down and lifted his shaft to her entrance, he gently took her breasts in his hands.
A new urgency burned just beneath her skin, and she sensed the same in Matteo, as though they needed to make up for lost time. Gingerly, she lowered herself onto him, as he lightly fingered her nipples. Slowly she sank, taking him in, letting him fill her in with his hard flesh. In the deepest part of her, their bodies joined, fitting together perfectly. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the sweet fullness, and the coiling tension in her belly.
Underneath her his hips began a slow rhythm, lifting her from the bed. He speared up into her, impaling her on his iron rod, as pleasure bloomed inside. They moved together in a timeless rhythm as she met his thrusts and eagerly matched them. As her sweet spot erupted in needy almost painful pangs, she gasped. Suddenly heat flooded the apex of her thighs, and swept upward into her belly.
“Look at me,” Matteo groaned.
Shocked to hear his voice, she stared into his eyes.
The intensity of his gaze went beyond desire, and its message was clear: their moment had come.
His flesh quickly swelled as a deep release ripped through her. She clenched around him, the spasm ferocious, as his white hot seed slapped into her. With a soul-shattering intensity that robbed her of breath, they climaxed together. Wild tremors of ecstasy rocked them as they rode the wave of frenzy. She heard him groan, even as the blissful agony wrenched a wild scream from her throat. As lights burst behind her eyes, she felt the last barrier disappear.
Just then the plane tilted and lifted into the air, and Matteo pulled her to his chest. Even as the last ripples of pleasure flowed around them, she felt his warmth spread through her belly, and her entire body thrummed. As a last profound shudder shook her, he stroked her back. Finally he let her slip to his side, but he held her close.
As their breathing slowed and she came back to herself, she sensed the stretch of time that lay before them. There was so much for them to experience and to share—and this was only the start.
“Toscana,” she whispered.
He went still for a moment, then smoothed the hair back from her face.
“What did you say?” he said.
“It’s Toscana, isn’t it? That’s how you say Tuscany, right?”
“Well yes, but–”
“I think it’s time I learned Italian,” she said, and smiled up at his astonished face. “Can you think of a better place to do it?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “Not a one.”
“Good,” she said, as his crazy grin became infectious. “I mean buono.”
• • • • •
THE END
Sneak Peek
RESCUED
Silver Wood Coven Book 1
Chapter 1
“Excuse me, Miss,” a man with a rasping baritone said, “but can you tell us where the secret gardens are?”
Summer looked up from the dog-eared paperback she was reading to smile at a pair of elderly men sporting cameras and a Central Park guide book.
“They’re not really a secret. This is the Italian garden, and the English and French gardens are on either side.”
She pointed in the appropriate directions.
The shorter, heavyset man hooted with delight.
“I told you this was it, Jimmy.”
“No, Arthur, you said if we went too far north we’d get mugged,” his taller, rail-thin companion chided, and winked at Summer. “You come here often, young lady?”
Summer couldn’t tell him she actually liv
ed in Central Park.
“Yes, I do. It’s quiet, and I like the flowers.”
That they were blooming in late fall under a slate-gray sky that promised frost before midnight was something else she couldn’t explain.
Arthur raised his camera to snap a shot of the vibrant pink peonies clustered around Summer’s bench while his companion made a show of breathing in the crisp, flower-scented air.
“I can’t believe how gorgeous it is here, Jimmy. Miss, how do they get all this stuff to bloom so late in the year? It’s October, for crying out loud.”
Summer felt an odd but familiar tug in her chest, and hoped ignoring it would make it go away for once.
“The people who look after the park do a wonderful job,” she said.
Jimmy’s face wrinkled with concern as he nodded at the battered backpack next to Summer. “You all right, sweetheart?”
No, it seemed it wasn’t going away. It would never go away.
“I’m fine,” she lied as she stood and slung the backpack, which contained every possession she had in the world, over her left shoulder. “I hope you gentlemen enjoy the gardens.”
“Wait,” Arthur said. Now he looked worried as well, and dug into his trouser pocket. “You look like you could use something to eat. Here.” He took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and offered it to her. “Have lunch on me and Jimmy, okay?”
Summer didn’t want or need to take his money, but arguing with him would only make things worse.
“That’s really kind of you, thanks.”
She tucked the bill in her back pocket and smiled at them before making a hasty retreat, glancing back once to see both men no longer watching her.
The strange pull she felt in her heart had already faded away. She wished the weird things that happened when she felt it would, too. Something about her drew complete strangers over to talk to her, and when they did they always offered help. They seemed obsessed with giving her things, too. Inside her backpack she had two jackets, seven hats, and innumerable packets of gum, granola bars and breath mints. She also had almost three hundred dollars in fives and tens. Even hard-hearted native New Yorkers, who were skilled at ignoring the homeless and needy, came to her. They offered to help her find everything from a job to a safe place to sleep. At least she now had the latter, thanks to a puppeteer. He’d insisted on giving her the spare key to the little cottage where he put on shows with his troop during the day for kids.
