by Michele Hauf
Rolling her eyes, she then confessed, “You have now witnessed the process.”
“The process?”
“What all women go through to try and look their best for you men. Well, and we do it for ourselves. Mostly for ourselves.”
He pressed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly promise to keep the process a secret from all other males. Are you still mad at me?”
“Don’t I have a right?”
“Yes. No. I wish you weren’t, but I understand. I was downright mean to you.”
“You were being defensive until you kissed me. But then you let me go. You run hot and then cold with the snap of fingers. You are a hard man to figure out.”
“Yes, well, mafia is one of those words that implies evil. I’m not, Tamatha. I am good. Mostly. I do try. Call me an evil overlord with a twist.” He winked and that set her heart racing. “Upstanding probably isn’t a word you’d ever see captioned below my picture. But I’m not as CJ makes me out to be. Can we call a truce for our walk?”
“We can. And don’t worry—I like to form my own opinion of people. I do still like you.”
“Because you need me.”
“For research, of course,” she teased.
She kissed him quickly, then scampered into her bedroom. A truce wasn’t necessary. She liked being with Ed. And she did trust him. She just had to learn what he was all about and then decide if she could live with the kind of person he was or if that would go against her values. Because one man’s opinion—that of Certainly Jones—could be clouded.
“Is your name real?” she called as she snagged a pair of purple suede knee-high boots from the closet. She wore a pink wrap dress, and the boots went nicely with it.
“Real?”
She stuck her head out of the bedroom. “Thrash. It didn’t appear on any of the genealogical records when I was researching.”
“Right. No. My mother purposely never gave me a surname. Something about protecting me from witches and their spells.” He winked at her. “Deeply inbred, that fear of witches.”
“I get that. So it’s a made-up name?”
“Don’t you think it suits me? I mean, it does have a rather evil ring to it.”
Putting on her bloodstone ring, she then grabbed a blue cardigan and swung it over her shoulders and headed out to meet Ed at the door. “You like that it has an evil connotation to it?”
“It can be a necessity when I need to be imposing.”
“Okay. I don’t get that, but as part of the truce I’ll let it slide. I won’t be able to trace your family line without a surname. Did your mother have one?”
“Nope.” He held the front door open. “But I’ll give her a call and ask after Grandfather’s information if you think that will help.”
“Anything might help right now. Where are we going? Does it involve pineapple gelato?”
“Actually, there will be tombstones.”
Chapter 14
The Montparnasse cemetery was the second largest in Paris proper, in ranking behind Père Lachaise. Many more cemeteries once existed centuries earlier, but as the city grew—and plague spread—burial sites were moved, covered over and forgotten in favor of urban beautification and outright fear of disease. The catacombs held proof of the rampant rise of dead to the ratio of available burial grounds.
Ed held Tamatha’s hand and led her through the gate that he had opened with a wave of his hand. Then he quickly closed it behind them, taking a precautionary moment to scan the street for the police. They dashed down an aisle canopied by the shush of ash and lime tree leaves.
He’d expected revulsion or even fear from her when he’d suggested they visit a cemetery in the dark of night. But instead she’d squealed in delight, and even now, she had taken the lead and eagerly trekked down the cobblestone pathway in those sexy purple boots. He could love a woman such as that adventurous, quirky witch.
If he knew how to love. Which he did not.
But she wasn’t going to like why he’d brought her here. Why did he feel compelled to add to her already growing list of reasons to hate him? That she had a list didn’t surprise him.
So he liked to keep his MO mysterious, which led to others suspecting the worst of him. It was best for the things he needed to accomplish that most did not consider him a goody-goody. One could hardly banish a murderous wraith demon from this realm if he was known to help little old ladies cross the street. So, evil overlord he must remain.
And more good work must be done. Quickly. Because if he didn’t take action soon, there would be another demon death. And he couldn’t live with that when the city’s demons were on his watch. Mafia king? More like Keeper of Demonic Nations. The keeping-the-peace thing included looking out for his own. Most of them, anyway. Those demons who hailed from Daemonia could stay there or go back—don’t let the portal door hit you on the ass, buddy. Which was why he employed an exorcist specifically trained for expulsions to the Place of All Demons.
He had no idea how to begin explaining this whole mess to Tamatha, so showing her had seemed the best way.
Dropping her leather shoulder bag, which she’d grabbed to bring along after he’d announced their destination, she pulled out an empty mason jar and tweezers. “You don’t mind if I get some grave dirt while I’m here, do you? I’m fresh out.”
He leaned against a stone sarcophagus and gestured she go right ahead. “So this is like a shopping trip for you?”
“It is!” She skipped ahead and, when she sighted something in the shadows, ducked between two stone monuments so Ed could see only her backside swaying with her movement in a slash of moonlight.
Now, that was a sight. Her ass was nicely curved and a perfect handful. And he wanted to touch it right now. Because after the sex they’d shared, he could only think to do it again. And again. And... Well, then she’d got some bad information about him, and he needed to now resurrect her positive feelings toward him and bury the suspicions so she could trust him enough to share her body with him again.
He filed down the narrow aisle between tombstones and glided his hand over her derriere. Made his horns tingle to imagine her bare skin beneath his stroking fingers. And he moaned in approval.
“Don’t tell me,” the witch said as she scraped moss from the base of a tombstone. “Graveyards make you horny?”
“Not particularly. But your ass in this clingy dress does it for me.” She stood, her back to him, and he glided his hand around and up her stomach to hold her against him. His erection nudged her backside. “Want to make out?” He nuzzled his mouth against the base of her ear and dashed out his tongue to taste lemons.
“I thought you brought me here to show me something?”
And like that, his erection softened. Right. Straight to the bad stuff, then. Well, he wasn’t going to regain his good standing in her eyes until he revealed the reasons for her to hate him. And that made so little sense he’d just go with it.
“I did want to show you something.”
“We can make out, too,” she offered gleefully as she screwed on the jar lid.
He quirked a hopeful brow. A make-out session with a witch gathering grave dirt under the full moon? There were some things a man could never plan for but must always be prepared for.
“Later.” She tucked her find into the bag. “After we’ve talked.”
He winced. Yeah, talking. As if that was going to make matters better?
“You probably won’t be interested in kissing me after what I have to show you. Which makes this damned difficult for me. But, for good or for ill, it’s got to be done. Come on, witch.”
He grasped her hand and led her down the twisting aisles, following the scent he could never lose. The scent of a darkly familiar death. Toward the back of the graveyard, close to a stone wall where the cro
oked tombstones were small yet close and blackened with mold and time, he suddenly stopped because the scent overwhelmed him. Evil and wretched, the musty odor tainted with blood and dust instilled a burning shiver on the sigil at the base of his spine. That one was a sort of “fellow demon recognizing” mark. When he was around others of his kind it tingled. Dead ones? The burn always startled him.
“Oh my goddess, what happened here?” Tamatha stepped right onto the spot where Ed had witnessed the death. “It’s fresh, not ancient as the other morbid vibrations I get as I pass through.” She looked to him over a shoulder.
“This is where the friend of mine—Laurent—was slain by Les Douze.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth and swung away from him, backing slowly from the spot that must harbor the violent imprint of the death. He knew she’d notice it, as she had sensed the lingering remnants in his office.
“I wanted you to feel it,” he said. “To know that what I’ve told you is real.”
“There was never a moment I didn’t believe you.”
That gave him much more relief than it should. She believed in him. The feeling was overwhelmingly of acceptance. And he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Especially coming from a witch. His witch ward didn’t tingle, not even a twitch.
“I thought if I brought you here you might get a sense of the sort of magic used?”
She shook her head. “Same as what I felt in your home, only tenfold. This is vile. Malefic. It runs over my skin like corpse worms. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
He caught her as she tried to pass him, hugging her gently but firmly. “Please, Tamatha. It’s important to me.”
“I haven’t told you I would help you.”
Now the witch ward on his arm did shiver. “I know that.”
“And you’ve told me nothing about this demon mafia. And besides, there is another circumstance that may keep me from helping you. Please, I need to get away from this horror.”
He exhaled and released her. The witch rushed down the cobblestone path. Another circumstance? Why Certainly Jones had put into her head that he was so evil was beyond him.
And then he could understand. Witch Number Two? She must have gone crying to CJ after Ed had managed to break free from her. Had probably told the dark witch all kinds of crazy lies about Ed. Of course, an assumption of guilt, of menace, would be made before a belief of beneficence. Not that he was so good. He had done things. Things he was not proud of. And things he knew had to be done, no matter the evil. But all he’d ever offered Witch Number Two was trust and an attempt at romance.
He had assumed the worst of Tamatha initially. So he deserved her reluctance at best. At worst, her downright refusal to help.
The click of her boot heels had stopped and he could smell lemons wafting over the must and loamy scent of dying tree bark and mold. She waited for him. She’d not run away.
“Please,” he said softly.
“But,” he heard her whisper plainly. “My grandmother...”
“What?” He strolled up behind her. She wrung her hands together nervously. “Your grandmother?”
Her jewel gaze found his and he swallowed at sight of the tears that glistened there. His heart ached when he suspected she was hurting emotionally.
“It’s something I learned going over the list of the twelve witches. I found all their names.” She inhaled. “Lysia Bellerose was one of Les Douze. Ed, you’re asking me to help you destroy my grandmother.”
“I had no idea. Ah hell.”
How he had managed to choose the one witch in the world who was actually related to one of The Twelve floored him. On the other hand, everything happened for a reason. And that wasn’t destiny; that was the way the universe operated.
He took her in his arms and kissed her hair, her eyelids and her mouth. If he could make things better, he’d try, but he felt he had not the capacity or the magic required to do so. Who was he but an evil mafia king? A lowly demon who took great risk in even being in this beautiful witch’s presence. If only he could be worthy of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no idea. I just wanted you to feel it. And now you have. Let me take you home. Sounds like we’ve a lot to discuss.”
“We do. But take me to your home,” she said and slid her hand into his. “I want to lie on your sheets and feel you on my skin. Together, we’ll figure this out.”
His fear of rejection was wiped out with that sweet entreaty. How had he got so lucky to meet this wondrous witch?
* * *
Tamatha preceded Ed into his apartment and dropped her things on the floor. She had told him about her grandmother, but right now, she didn’t want to talk about it. His cedar scent had got into her senses, and all she wanted to do was lick him. Touch him. Press her skin against his.
He started to ask her something but she stopped him with a kiss. Running her hands down the front of his shirt, she unbuttoned it as she dropped lower. At his pants she unbuttoned and unzipped him and slid her hand inside to grip his thick erection. She rubbed the ribs with her thumb.
“I guess we’ll save the talk for later,” he said and lifted her in his arms and ran up the stairs with her. Tossing her gently onto the bed, he tugged off his shirt, revealing the dark array of sigils and tattoos. “Sometimes I can’t figure you out, witch. You’re angry with me and then you can’t seem to get enough of me.”
“Same with you. We’re hot and cold for one another. I want all of you,” she said, gesturing with a crook of her finger for him to approach the bed. “All of this darkly interesting stuff.” She tapped his chest and traced a finger over a curve. Ink or a natural mark, she didn’t care. “But this one looks so faint. It’s as if it’s disappearing.”
He eyed the pale curved lines she touched over his chest. “Not disappearing. Might be a new one. I never know what they’re about until they are fully formed.”
“Maybe it’s to do with Les Douze?”
“You never know.” He kissed her, pushing her back on the bed and pinning down her wrists. “You’re the one who started this. No talk of that now. I’ve got something for you.” He rubbed his erection, which had escaped his pants, against her thigh. “Want it?”
She twisted out of his grip and shimmied down alongside him to lick the head of his thickness. Grasping the sturdy column and squeezing, she tugged him onto the bed to kneel while she sucked and licked and teased him with her tongue. Ed’s fingers ran through her hair and pulled it from the pins she’d used to put it up. She wasn’t undressed, but that didn’t matter. Her nipples were so tight every slip of her dress over them increased the crazy-sexy need to let go.
There was something about taking a man in her mouth that satisfied her need for control. Because he was completely at her mercy and would say and do anything to make her continue. The skim of his gloved hand over her shoulder and down to clasp her breast through her dress warranted a wardrobe adjustment.
Kneeling, she untied her dress at the waist and unwrapped it. Ed pulled the bra straps down, and before she could spin it around to unclasp, he sucked her breast into his hot, wet mouth. His tongue teased her firmly and his fingers crept lower, parting her legs.
She wanted him inside her now. And always. He was like a new drug she couldn’t get enough of. She didn’t do drugs, but she could do Ed over and over.
Directing his exquisitely ribbed penis inside her, she lowered herself slowly onto his length and grasped him at the back of the neck and with her other hand ran her fingers through his hair. He continued to lick her breasts as she rocked slowly, deeply, indulging in his unique design and thickness. Every movement tugged at her apex, teasing the climax to the fore.
Ed swore and gripped her at the hips. His body tensed, the muscles at the back of his neck tightening. He felt alive in her hands and at her skin. Electric with
imminent orgasm.
With a gentle stroke of his finger over her clit, she was coaxed into a rousing orgasm that matched his shudders, and they came together. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders and nuzzled her face into his hair as she panted and gasped in elation.
The thunder of his heartbeats against her chest matched the fierce pounding of hers. And she clutched him tightly, driving in her fingernails at his shoulders, wanting to push him in deeper, to own him, claim him. To make sure he knew that he was hers.
“This isn’t bewitchery,” she said on a gasp.
“Yes, I know. It’s real.”
And with that declaration, the two of them shuddered again, coming softly, fiercely.
Chapter 15
Ed lay on his back, his eyes closed, but Tamatha knew he was awake. Exhausted from great sex, as was she. She trailed her fingertips down his neck, tracing the feather that rippled gently, and then along his shoulder where curls and x’s and what looked like maroon flame darkened his skin. Across his dark-haired chest and over his heart she studied the faint markings she’d noticed earlier.
“How will you know what this one means?” she asked, tapping above his nipple where the dark hairs barely disguised the tracing.
“I’m never sure what they mean until they are complete. Sometimes I have to have a demonologist interpret them for me.”
“Isn’t that someone who studies demons? Like me?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes, but can you interpret demonic sigils?”
“No, but perhaps with more study. Would you oblige me?”
“Study all you like, witch.”
She was bothered less and less by his propensity to label her witch. It was no longer the accusatory epithet he’d once spit at her, but rather an endearment.
She slid her fingers over the ridged muscles on his abdomen, and there beneath the dark curls about his penis were faint lines. No sigils on his penis or testicles. The ridges were interesting enough as it was. Man, did she appreciate those ridges.
