The malice was dark and painful, the color of dried blood. It blurred and trembled, but held firm.
The Aernish mage wasn’t running, Diane realized in horror. He was here, wanting to kill those who had interfered with his plans.
In the far corner, the shadowed smoke thickened.
Did Cabot guess what he was dealing with? The Aernish mage had used the spell bomb and containment box to get himself through the lodge’s wardings. He had sent his spirit before him and now he’d join it.
“Cabot, no!” Diane shrieked in horror. The agent hadn’t realized the immediacy of the enemy.
The Aernish mage materialized, solidified in an instant and wrapped his hands around Cabot’s neck. The agent’s gloved hands plucked clumsily at his killer’s hold.
Diane stepped forward and slammed shut the containment box. But it was too late. The Aernish mage was completely present, the spell bomb empty shards. Evil was free.
Chapter Eleven
“Let him go,” Diane said.
The Aernish mage looked up from Cabot’s sagging body. He dropped him and snarled a curse spell at her.
She flung up a hand, bracing her shield. “Go away.”
“Not till I’ve fed on death.”
Oh God. Not only an Aernish mage, but one who practiced black magic. No wonder his hate was so strong.
“Come here,” he whispered.
She locked her knees, leaning back in resistance.
He stepped over Cabot. “Sweet mage.” He smelled her, as she had tracked his magic, and his nostrils flared. “Light magic. A virgin.” Surprise and satisfaction. “I shall enjoy you.”
“Go to hell.” Fear weakened her defiance, but she meant it.
“Little virgin, I’ll share my hell with you.”
“No.” She stepped back for every pace forward he took. She wished she could recall any offensive spells, for his black smoke was eating away at her shield. If she didn’t attack soon, she’d be helpless, and painfully, protractedly slaughtered.
“Yes!” He reached through her shield and grabbed her throat.
The steel door behind them melted.
The Aernish mage pulled Diane against him, hand tipping up her chin, showing her vulnerability. One push, and he’d snap her neck.
In the doorway, Zstl blazed white hot and the same rage enveloped Stuart. He held a gun in one hand and the salamander in the other.
“Your gun won’t work against me,” the mage said.
To Diane, he felt solid enough, but his body was elsewhere. What held her was a simulacrum built of the spell bomb and fed by the man’s hate.
But if she cut the line of malice between his spirit and his body, what would happen? Would the body die if the spirit couldn’t find its way back?
“I recognize you, Agent Jamieson,” the mage gloated. “A mundane with a salamander you can’t use. Now, if I had the creature…”
Zstl spat a tongue of flame. It caught Diane in the chest, but what would have burned the Aernish mage, fed her power. She felt the surge of confidence from Stuart’s love and Zstl’s anger.
She chopped back shortly with elbow and heel, and twisted free of the simulacrum. Its eyes glowed, but she ignored its rage. She had to find the line of malice, had to find it, grasp it and severe it.
The mage screamed, understanding too late what she fumbled for on the floor. The chain linked to his foot. He raised his foot to kick her in the head.
Stuart’s tackle dropped him to the concrete.
The simulacrum shattered. The mage’s spirit gathered itself, intent now on fleeing back along the chain, revenge overridden by the need to survive.
Diane grasped the line of malice. Zstl landed beside her. She looked into its rainbow eyes and offered the salamander the line.
It bit, and the line of malice flared up in cleansing fire. The spirit wailed eerily into nothingness.
“The mage is dead,” Diane said.
In the corner, Cabot groaned.
Stuart pulled Diane into his arms.
She kissed him fiercely, needing his life and power, his love and reassurance. She sensed the same need in him. Death and evil had touched them too closely. “Zstl.”
The salamander waited to the side, not invited into their sexual energy. Diane and Stuart reached out to him together. “Thank you.”
They cradled him between them. This time Stuart saw the sly claw rub across Diane’s nipple.
“Good idea,” he murmured and gently replaced the salamander with his own hand.
The salamander vibrated happily and wriggled downwards.
“Diane, I—” He stopped, eyes widening, and looked down.
She followed his gaze, and laughed. “Zstl, that’s my privilege.”
Cabot coughed and rolled to his feet. When his eyes focused, Diane and Stuart were standing decorously, concerned for him. Only Zstl gave away the game. Its tongue licked against the pulse at the base of Diane’s throat.
“Zstl,” she hissed.
Chapter Twelve
They fed Zstl on the happy energy of the party that developed in the kitchen of Gar Lodge. The President arrived with his wife, driven by Pete Ho, and other agents crowded in for the debriefing. Sharon and Kyle seemed to have reached a new understanding, although Sharon was quietly smug that Diane had killed the Aernish mage after all.
Diane wasn’t so smug, but when she looked at Cabot—drinking whiskey which he insisted helped his sore throat—she knew there had been no choice. The mage would have killed her. Certainly Zstl, shining brightly and humming, showed no remorse for its part in the killing. Some evil shouldn’t walk the earth.
Stuart kept his arm around her.
She noticed the smiles and smirks of the other agents, and of the President and First Lady, but sensed the affection behind them. They were glad for Stuart’s happiness. More than that, they were including her in the “family”.
Around ten o’clock, Stuart backed her out of the kitchen although the party was still going strong.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he muttered into her ear.
“Me neither.” Her skin felt too tight. She wanted to fill herself with him. Every time she touched him, something tingled. She wanted to tingle inside and out.
“Are you sure Zstl will stay with the party?”
“Mm-hmm.” She tilted her head so he could kiss the betraying pulse at the base of her throat. “No human sex for salamanders.”
“What about you? Will you miss being a virgin?”
“No.” Her body spoke even more starkly of her need, pressing against his arousal, her hips grinding.
He caught her hand and they ran up the back stairs, laughing like teenagers as he closed the door to his bedroom behind them and clicked the lock.
He cupped the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair. “I love you.”
“Stuart.” She stared into his dark eyes, seeing the intensity of emotion, his need and vulnerability as he waited for her answer. “I love you.”
Their mouths fitted gently, with sudden unfamiliarity. They had so much to learn of one another: their dreams, fears, pleasures, the changes the bond between them would bring.
His tongue touched hers. She stroked in reply. His hands moved from her waist to her hips and his knee parted her legs. The friction of his jeans clad thigh lifted the flirty skirt she wore. She gasped at the pleasure of his intrusion. His heat scorched her through cotton and the thin barrier of silk knickers. The thrust of his tongue quickened and deepened. She caught the rhythm and rubbed against him.
“You feel so ready.” His teeth scraped the line of her jaw, gentle bites that fed his hunger and hers.
“I am.”
He eased away his thigh and felt the damp silk. She rubbed against the testing fingers.
“Does it feel good?” He watched her flushed face.
She jerked at the intimacy of his fingers tracing her. Her knees shook.
He held her, undressing her swiftly an
d lying her on the bed while he stripped.
“I think you’re too big for me.” She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“We’ll go slow,” he said with a grin. He stretched out beside her on the bed. “Just as slow as you want.” He trailed a hand from her throat, over an erect nipple, circled her navel and dropped to her curls. “Too fast?”
He bent over her, licking a nipple, knowing her sensitivity to that sensual torment.
She moaned and her hips arched up to his hand. She caressed his face, hair, shoulders and back with increasing urgency until a long finger insinuated itself inside her and she stilled at the alien sensation.
The finger slid deeper.
“Stuart?” Internal tremors shook her.
The finger withdrew, found a partner, returned.
“You’ll hold me, darling. You’ll fit me tight.” He covered her mouth and shattered her with an expert touch.
His weight anchored her to reality when she drifted back. He was between her thighs, urgent and careful.
“Ready?”
The tension in him started a new spiral of excitement. She ran her hands the length of his spine, then stretched up and kissed him.
“I love you.”
Her body welcomed him without the pain others spoke of. He was large, but he gave her time. Love words relaxed her and made her eager. When he was deeply inside, they smiled at each other.
“You are a man of iron control.”
There was sweat on his skin and his arms trembled. “It’s cracking.”
“Show me.”
The power of his thrusts awed and delighted her. Playtime and care crashed into passion. Diane surged to answer the challenge. Her internal muscles tightened, convulsed and triggered their shared climax.
“I am never letting you go,” she said when she could breathe again.
“Good.” He lay on his back, arranging her limp body in a dazed and delighted sprawl over him. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed her. “Ever.”
Want More?
Discover the Collegium series, today. Paranormal romance and adventure with shifters, demons, dragons and more! Each stand-alone novel is free to read in Kindle Unlimited.
Demon Hunter
Djinn Justice
Dragon Knight
Doctor Wolf
Plague Cult
Hollywood Demon
Alchemy Shift
Go Old School in 2017
Phoenix Blood
Fantastical Island
Storm Road (out April 2017)
Catch up with Jenny Schwartz on her Facebook page, Twitter @Jenny_Schwartz, or at her website.
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