“Yeah, Wallace?”
The lust in her gaze cleared some. She understood his question, the images he sent along with his recollection of how good her blood tasted; the sweet tang and the way the taste entwined with his magic. “Why?”
“Because it will make me hot, and I can blow your mind I’ll fuck you so good.”
She arched her back so her body pressed against his. “Promise?”
He leaned in close enough for a kiss but without kissing her. “If you’re not one hundred percent satisfied, angel, I will do it until you are.”
“I love your dedication.” Her low laugh turned him on. So did the amusement that rippled through her, and right after that the wave of arousal. This was going be so, so good.
He moved his mouth to her arm and licked once. He drew enough magic so his teeth were sharp enough to do the job, and his body trembled with the urge to leave this form. He turned his head toward hers. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
With his head sideways to her arm, he gave her a long, slow grin that put the daze back in her eyes. Then he kissed that tender skin there. Once. A second time. He breathed in and wrapped the fingers of his other hand lightly around her throat, palm down. He changed just enough that the side of his canine pressed against her skin. Just the pressure for now. He dragged his other hand down her torso. When he reached the top fastening of her jeans, he pulled at the button. He slid his fingers down her belly as he bit her. Hard enough to break skin. Hard enough that she flinched and then there was that sweet, rich scent, and the taste of her.
He licked away the blood, and more of her magic shivered through him, and if he’d not learned how to sense it, he wouldn’t have known it was there. He’d been with witches before, enough to know what human-born magic felt like, and this was different; richer, a golden, sun-kissed sky. Instead of a pool to touch, her magic flowed over him, around him, through him.
He kissed her again, skirting the edges of thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Deep, crude, slow kisses that were perfect in every way he could think of. Her magic stirred, and that got him more worked up. Her, too. He had his hand down her pants, and he was savoring the taste of her blood, and the fact that he’d changed a little to make that happen, and he hadn’t had sex in his non-human form for a very long time. It was risky and against the rules without full consent, so he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, but for the first time in a long while he wanted to.
Okay, so she wanted kids someday, but not today. That came through loud and clear, and he had to respect that no matter how good it would be for them if he changed. He was fertile in any of his non-human forms, and the nature of the demonkind worked to make conception just about a given.
Eventually, she pulled her mouth from his, and he drank in the shape of her lips—drugged, he felt drugged with pleasure and the promise of pleasure, while she said, “Bed. Please. Please. Please, take me to bed now.”
Lucky them, they were a few steps from his room. He pushed the door open and remembered to hit the lights so she could see. Not much. Not too much. He could see her just fine with the lights low. The only time he used his bed was if someone was over who didn’t know what he was, and he had to fake that he needed to sleep. He didn’t bring many women here. Hardly any. His sheets were pristine since the last time the service was in.
Wallace had him by the hand again, heading for the bed, but he pulled her toward him. Good sex was never wrong when all parties were free and wanted it. That all instead of both came with a specific history behind it, and she got all wide-eyed again. “Really?”
“I was a blood-twin.” He liked that she didn’t have a problem with that. “Sometimes we looked outside just us.”
“You’re going to think I’m boring.”
“I think you’re the best thing that ever walked in here wearing too many clothes.” He grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled up. She lifted her arms just in time. He was going to drop her shirt where they stood, but then he thought maybe she wouldn’t like that, so he tossed her shirt onto a chair and turned his attention to her and took a long, appreciative glance.
And no, she was not a shy girl about this, and he did like that. He moved into her personal space, and at the same time she unhooked her bra, and his brain dropped out of any conversation because naked breasts. Her naked breasts.
“Nice. This is nice. So pretty, Wallace.”
Without thinking, he drew a line from her forehead to the end of her nose, and there was a sizzle of power in the wake of his touch, and, what the hell, why not? Why not lay down some power? In his mind, he wasn’t human when he touched her and let his magic sink into her.
Her breath hitched.
“You like?” He drew another line, this time along the shadows of her collarbone.
“That feels good.”
“Later, I’ll teach you how to do that to me.” He backed her to his bed, and when he palmed her breast, he was thinking this was the best decision of his life because her tits were just so pretty and the shape and heft in his palms, and the way she pressed toward him? More. More. More.
He got her on her back, grabbed the open fly of her jeans and between them, they got them the rest of the way off. He groaned, losing himself more with each second. He touched and stroked—breasts that fit in his palms when he slipped a finger over her nipples. She arched, and she took the pleasure higher. That peak of flesh under his fingertip, tight and so sensitive, oh, she liked what he did for her. She told him what worked for her, through their link, or in words, by touch, by reaction, what she liked best.
They explored each other, too. Not just him putting his hands and mouth in interesting, luscious places. Her, too. His pants got pushed down, kicked off, shoved off the bed, and he loved that sound she made, loved it. When she touched him, undeniable appreciation of his human form echoed back to him. Good. So good, that she responded to the body his magic made possible.
She had good hands, and a fantastic mouth, and they weren’t thinking about much but finding out more about what things amped the sensations. She curled her fingers around his cock, drew his foreskin down, and got busy with her mouth. Fuck, oh, fuck. When he had his head on straight again, and she was stroking his belly, he drew a line from her right shoulder diagonally down to the curve of her backside. “Good for you?”
“God, yes.”
“Your skin is so pretty. So soft. I want to lick you everywhere.”
“I think you should.”
He kissed his way to the spot where he’d bitten her and tongued away the blood that had seeped out. She worked her hand between him, cupping his balls, sliding up, and he sank into their pleasure.
This wasn’t what sex was like for him. He was good at it, but he was never, except for those moments of coming, not in full control. Because his life without Avitas wasn’t real. When he fucked a woman that’s all it ever was.
“I want in.” Her skin was smooth and such a beautiful dark, dark, brown and with all the walking she did because she didn’t have a car, there was muscle under her flesh. His thoughts raced on, anticipating his cock in her, that shiver that came with the possibility of procreative sex. With a witch there was always that plus the messed up, breathless, perverted things a demon could do with a woman who had magic.
She adjusted herself. “Yes. Now.”
“I’m not fertile in this form, you know that, right? None of us are.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Maddy gave us the lecture.”
“Good.” He pulled himself over her, hands on the mattress above her shoulders. “You know no condom necessary, right?”
“I took notes,” she said. “Just in case.”
“You would.”
In his mind he was in his true form, and that was not safe. Not safe at all. She gave him what had to be the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen, and parted her legs, knees bent, and he slid in.
“Fuck. Wallace.” For a moment, he teetered on the edge of orgasm. “I can’t—”
/> She put her arms around him and moved with him, and there was no point in talking or thinking or anything but letting their reactions fill them up. Them. Moving, sliding in her, and she was soft, and warm, and he could feel her magic, too, and that was as hot as anything he’d felt in his long years of existing since Avitas died.
They ended up with him on his back, and his thoughts blanked when she swung a leg over him. She settled onto him, and his cock went deep in her, and his eyes were filled with nothing but her. The way she smiled—how had he not anticipated that? The shape of her breasts, the play of light and shadow across her body, and he had no idea why he’d ever thought she was anything but the most fuckable woman in the world. The slide to her waist and the curve of her hips. Beautiful skin. Better than anything. He touched her everywhere he could reach, and he was worried he was going to come before he was ready.
She took one of his hands, and showed him how she liked her breasts touched, and he learned, he memorized, because he wasn’t going to give her anything but what she needed. What they both needed. She matched him, mated him, fucked him with abandon. Her body moved with his, her fingers and palms and mouth, sometimes, sliding along him. Mind paired—one.
Then he reared back and nicked the side of his throat with a taloned nail. She met him at the midpoint of his offering of his blood to her. The heat when she licked away his blood opened him to her. He’d been closed off too long. She wasn’t Avitas, she wasn’t, but she lessened the emptiness of his loss, and that alone was miraculous. He wasn’t alone anymore.
She knew. She was there in his head with his desolation. She looped her arms around his neck and whispered, “I bear witness to your loss.” When she released him, she traced his face with her fingertips. Her magic was there. Vast. And he accepted her, and her words, and her promise to remember and honor. “I bear witness, Palla.”
He slowed his movements in her. Bereft, yet for the first time since he’d been destroyed, he found comfort. They hit another peak, and he growled and rolled so she was on her back again, and he was taking them both over the edge, and when they did, he amplified the sensations. His. Hers. Theirs. And she gave all that back to him, his fierce, beautiful, survivor.
CHAPTER 14
Jeanne’s house was in an exclusive area of multi-million dollar homes—a showplace in an enclave of mansions. They weren’t in Santa Cruz, proper, but that was splitting hairs. Some of the magekind kept a low profile; Jeanne never had, and nothing had changed about that. The witch was supposed to be home tonight. They had to do this when she was home, or they ran the risk of getting inside and finding out Jeanne had the talisman with her.
Palla parked downhill on Mockingbird Ridge Road so Wallace would be able to drive away with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of speed if she was pursued. He shut off the motor. She already had an extra fob, so he shoved his into his pocket. He wasn’t likely to be using it, but, whatever.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Sure.” In her purse, she had a fake driver’s license, a hundred dollars in mixed bills, and an employee ID for a startup at an address in Cupertino. Registration and insurance for the car was in her name with an address in Los Gatos. Her cell phone was loaded with enough contacts, apps, files, and music to satisfy all but the most thorough review that she was exactly who the documents said.
He was glad, now, that Wallace had insisted on dressing like she belonged here. He didn’t think her shoes were practical enough, but she wouldn’t budge on that or on the jewelry or on dressing like she was going to a party. As she’d pointed out to him, a brown woman in an area like this had better look like she was either the help or someone with a damn good job in the tech sector.
He’d already dampened his magic and made himself essentially invisible to any magekind in the area, Jeanne included. Magehelds weren’t a worry yet. Being mageheld cut you off from all free kin. He couldn’t sense them. They couldn’t sense him. Wallace registered as vanilla as possible, too. Every contingency.
Three weeks of her working on controlling her magic had paid off. She had good control, and she could dead drop him essentially at will. She’d practiced on magic-infused objects, too, the way she’d need to with the talisman, or as close to without actually working with one. They’d memorized the layout of the house and rehearsed the plan for getting in and out. They were as prepared as they could be.
Wallace got out of the car first. He took a few seconds to settle himself before he joined her. Back when he’d decided to recruit her help, he hadn’t imagined he’d care about anything but her being his means of getting the talisman to Nikodemus. Three weeks of having her naked in his arms had complicated that. Getting naked with her. With and without a psychic connection. Sometimes sweet sex and sometimes not at all. Sometimes one or both of them thinking about him not being human. He’d slipped up once. Just once, and she knew he’d envisioned her pregnant by him. They hadn’t done anything about that.
Well before they reached the driveway, Palla felt the shiver of Jeanne’s power. Wallace put a hand on the back of his shoulder. She felt it, too. He brought Wallace into the dampening effect he already had on his magic just to be sure.
“Ready?” she said.
They started a low level link, two-way so they wouldn’t need to talk. She’d know when he’d located the talisman, and through her, he’d have advance notice of magehelds who were drawing on magic. The wards on the outside of the house were sloppy and easily disengaged. He recognized the work of magehelds out for every possible act of defiance. During his enslavement, he’d done shitty work like this whenever he could find a way around dit Menart’s commands.
They found the side door without trouble, and he had the wards, and the physical alarms and locks disabled in ten seconds. Jeanne’s power was a familiar miasma. Sickening. Stronger than she’d been before, though. Significantly. He concentrated on his link with Wallace and between them located the magehelds. At least twenty. If Nikodemus didn’t have his hands full dealing with things up north, Jeanne and her twenty slaves would have been a prime target. Palla would have volunteered to lead the team sent to do the work.
Five more steps into the house, and a familiar echo of power rocked to him to his core. He froze in plain sight of anyone who might show up, stunned and thrown half back in his old life, his lost life.
Avitas.
She was here.
Not alive, but not gone. The air quivered with her familiar energy, so real he felt he might walk back in time and find her, hold her again, and she’d be there, smiling. Find her, and he would be whole again.
Instinctively, he opened himself to her and there was howling, screaming madness where there had once been his blood-twin. He dropped to his knees, sliced open, trapped in the nightmare of her suffering. The harder he tried to remake their connection so he could help her, the more entangled he became.
Palla punched his chest with a fist while Avitas’s agonized screams echoed through him. Dying. They were dying, and he had to find her.
Palla.
They had not been whole for centuries, and that terrible wound bled anew.
“Palla.”
Someone touched his shoulder.
Not Avitas. Not her touching him or saying his name. Someone else.
“Palla.”
He focused on the annoyance of that contact with an acuity of vision that meant he’d at least partially shifted. A human woman knelt in front of him—because he was on his knees, too, and she had her hands on his temples. A witch. She was a witch. Different from others in the way her magic worked. He watched, bemused, until her attempts to link with him worked. Her power flowed around him.
Wallace.
They were in Santa Cruz, and they were going after the talisman in which Avitas was imprisoned and his magic wasn’t dampened anymore and even with him regaining control of himself, it was too late. Even with the dampening restored, his lapse had betrayed him. And Wallace. He’d brought her here and put her in harm’s way, an
d now he’d need a miracle to get Wallace out of here alive.
“Palla? Are you with me?”
He reached for her, set his hands on either side of her face. “Get out of here. Now.”
“Not without the talisman.” Her fingers curled around his upper arms, and she tugged upward, urging him to stand. “We are going to make this right.”
There wasn’t time to argue about this. She’d be killed if they wasted an more time. “Fine. But you need to let up on me.”
She did, and the screams tore through him again. He was dying with Avitas. Subsumed. As insane as she was. So serious, the witch standing before him. Why wasn’t she attacking him? He repeated the old saying that had been so ironically common among humans back in the days when the wars between humans and demons were just getting started. “The only good witch is a dead witch.”
He couldn’t kill her. He’d made an oath to protect her. Why?
The witch dead dropped him. Him. Fuck—
The screams stopped. Wallace was unperturbed. Matter-of-fact. In control of her worry that things were going wrong so quickly.
“She’s set a trap, Palla.”
“Who?” The fog of the last few minutes thinned. He tried to hook into her, but he couldn’t touch his magic. His mind cleared. “Jeanne.”
“I think she tied the talisman to a ward, and it triggered when we came in.”
His stomach churned. He concentrated on Wallace because the trap hadn’t affected her. Her odd, inverted magic kept her safe from the maelstrom, and right now, she was keeping him safe, too. He didn’t like not being able to touch his magic, but if he broke free of her, he’d be vulnerable to whatever Jeanne had done. “I can’t protect you without my magic. Not in this house. It’s not safe here.”
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