by Gaja J. Kos
The same, however, couldn’t be said for the mess I’d made of Finn’s arm.
“Shit, Finn, I’m sorry.” He’d been right to stop me from going in for the kill, but throwing your arm in front of a pissed-off werewolf was just about the worst thing a person could do. “Why didn’t you just blast me with your magic?”
A faint smile touched his lips even as he pulled his cell from his back pocket with his good hand and dialed the police.
“Now where would the fun be in that.” Mischief lit his eyes and overpowered the traces of pain. “Some rough play is good for the soul.”
I snorted but refrained from answering as the call patched through. After the police arrived some ten minutes later and hauled the douchebag away, Finn worked a healing spell on himself. I sat on the ground as he wove brilliant, fully visible threads together, then laid them upon the mangled flesh. It wasn’t quite like watching a werewolf heal, but close enough to put me at ease that I hadn’t done any long-term damage.
Magic continued to linger in the air when he finished, but unfortunately, so did the stench of the piece-of-shit human. I wrinkled my nose and glanced at the spot where we’d pinned him.
“We did a good job,” Finn said and offered me a hand up.
I tugged on the hem of my short black dress and slipped beneath his arm. “Minus me munching on you.”
His laugh was a wonderful, rumbling thing that rolled through my entire body. “Definitely not the kind of eating out I had in mind for tonight, but you were quite a sight, Lotte Freundenberger. Canines and all.”
I glanced up at him. The intensity in his forest green eyes sent a wave of heat uncurling from my core.
“Finn Gerdel,” I purred, shifting so my front was flush against his. The bulge of his erection pressed into my stomach. “You might have magic in your fingers, but you’re a werewolf at heart.”
The lust mixing in with the adrenaline that seeped from his body all but confirmed just how our hunt had impacted him.
“Magic in my fingers, huh?” A smile tugged on one corner of his lips. “You aren’t wrong.”
He traced his fingers up my bare thigh. Beneath the hem of my dress.
Thank fuck I’d left my panties in the warlock’s back pocket.
His lopsided smile gained a smug quality that all but undid me. “Care for a demonstration, Freundenberger?”
The cool summer night whisked across my ass as he pushed my dress up, then drew a lazy, languid circle across my exposed skin.
When he ventured between my legs, ever closer to where I craved him without actually giving me what I wanted, I leaned against the warlock’s hard chest and brought my mouth to his lips.
“I’d settle for nothing less.”
11
Desire swirled through the air in an electrifying surge the second before Finn claimed my lips. I arched my back and spread my legs wider apart, moaning as I tasted the spring-flavored magic in his kiss.
His fingers skimmed my folds, playing with the liquid heat of my arousal. I gripped his shoulders, held on to him as pleasure that had evaded me for far too long rocked through my entire being. Berlin vanished under the weight of Finn’s power that encompassed us—conveyed volumes of just how much he wanted me.
Somehow, I managed to part from his lips to take the gorgeous man in.
A carnal, devious smile played across his lips, but it was the lust tinting his forest green eyes a shade darker that sent delicious shivers skittering down my body.
Never ceasing the wicked play of his fingers, Finn watched me with the dedication of a natural-born predator. Werewolf at heart, indeed. A husky laugh slipped from my lips, and Finn claimed it, making it his as he kissed me long and hard, all the while mapping out a wicked path to my clit.
I writhed, but the hand he secured around my waist held me in place even as my knees threatened to buckle.
“I’m going to enjoy making you come,” he whispered against my lips.
A weak growl was all I could manage.
Finn laughed, then swept his fingers between my folds, adding just a delicate hint of actual magic to his touch. Fuck. My demonic side purred and flared, fueling my arousal, and I moaned into his kiss, craving more—
My back hit the wall.
Finn broke away from my lips. My mind spun as I looked at him, but I didn’t stand a chance at pulling myself together as the warlock knelt before me and hiked my dress up my abdomen. Not that I even wanted to. The daze ridden with carnal need rode me so damn beautifully, there was no way in all the realms I was giving it up.
I threaded my fingers through Finn’s luscious strawberry blond hair, drank in the sight of him gazing up—the desire shaping his features, transforming them into a sight that broke all the barriers I’d fallen captive to over the past five months.
Free from the cumbersome weight, I tipped my head against the wall as Finn positioned my left leg over his shoulder, then delved into me with that wicked, wicked tongue. Our powers became beacons, firing up the night and twining around one another.
Compatible energies.
But I wasn’t afraid of accidentally binding myself to him.
Finn wasn’t a shackle.
He was liberation.
He was flight, given to me through every flick of his tongue.
And when I came, when he worked me all through my orgasm before flipping me around and filling me with his rock-hard cock, I felt as if I’d reclaimed a lost part of me at long last.
It had been a long, long time since someone whooped my ass on the court. Especially someone who was ten godsdamn years my senior.
I’d say it was magic, but I was no liar.
Tilda was simply that good. Always had been.
And my sweat-drenched, heart-thrashing-against-ribs body was nothing if not irrefutable proof.
I didn’t even have time to chide myself for allowing my job to minimize the hours I spent on the clay, not when it took everything I had just to rush from one side of the court to the other, playing defense like a rookie. There had been just one reason why I’d dominated the tournaments and not Tilda.
The very same one I was here for today.
As the ball whisked past my racket, I had no choice but to admit defeat. Tilda and I clasped hands at the net. A satisfied gleam adorned her blue eyes, but it was one I knew would die down the second I broached the unpleasant subject.
“That was a fine match,” she said as we strode alongside the net towards the benches.
I chuckled and cast her a look over my shoulder that made it plain just how thoroughly she’d beaten my rusty ass. We cleaned up the court, then quickly hit the showers. The temps had indeed reached murderous levels as the hour climbed towards noon, but as we reconvened in the shady terrace beneath the pines, I cherished the heat. Somehow, it made the mere thought of what I was about to do that much more bearable.
“It’s a shame what happened to you during last year’s Munich Games.” Tilda clipped her mass of curly blonde hair up. “I would have loved to see you and Alec in the finals.”
“You and me both,” I confessed. “But fate had other ideas in mind for me.”
“Namely becoming ICRA?” A strand of wariness entered her tone.
“Namely that, yeah.” I crossed one foot over the other and poured my opened bottle of Coke into the glass. “I guess the quiet, comfortable life truly wasn’t in the cards for me, regardless of how much I wanted it.”
Some of the wariness dissipated from Tilda’s scent, but not the caution. I drank three long swallows of Coke. I wasn’t Isa. I couldn’t drag this out, manipulate an old acquaintance—friend, even.
When I set the glass back down, something changed in the air. As if Tilda had picked up on my resolve.
“The truth is,”—I folded my hands in my lap and squinted at her as the sun seeped through the pines in needle-sharp rays—“I was hoping you might help me out with something more than just breaking a mean sweat.”
Tilda’s magic swirle
d in the air. A blend of all the old covens, along with a touch of her Baba Yaga heritage. The hair on my arms stood on end, but I ignored it, focusing on the sun’s caresses instead.
Tilda laced her fingers with manicured nails around one knee. “And what might that be?”
Her voice came out as sharp as the tang of power prickling my senses. My demonic side wanted to rise to the surface, as did a growl, but neither would do me any favors right about now.
“Tilda, I’m not here to give you a hard time, nor am I here as ICRA, even if the information I’m after just might help me solve this case.” The magic didn’t abate, but since it didn’t get any worse, either, I carried on. “I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a somewhat…darker coven.”
I paused now that her magic did spike. Heartbeats passed as we both sat perfectly still, the sun beating down on us as it crept above the pines.
“You know I don’t have ties with that community any longer,” Tilda said at long last. “Giving up professional tennis after the War had been my punishment for my youth, and my freedom relies on me staying away from dark magic.”
Gods, she truly was determined to make this difficult. I adored the woman and couldn’t really blame her for treading carefully, but we both knew she was full of shit. She might not be an active member of that community any longer, but severing all ties?
I gave her a look that conveyed as much.
Tilda unclipped her hair and ran a hand through her curls, frustration evident in the rough, choppy motion.
“Fine.” She met my gaze. “I know of a coven. But if you want them to talk, you’ll need an offering.”
While I liked Berlin, I couldn’t look past one of its major downsides. The sheer, godsdamned size of the city. It took forever to get from the crime scenes to the coven’s base in Friedrichshain, and the bloody family photo I was carrying wrapped in plastic did little to help matters.
Crowds thinned and the supe population thickened, earning me more than a few curious glances. Plastic only went so far to cover up the smell of old blood. Unfortunately, I couldn’t risk public transport, and any car tied to ICRA was a huge no-no if I wanted these witches to talk to me.
Even the bloody, death-touched offering and me ditching my agent status wasn’t a guarantee they’d help.
Following the directions mapped out on my cracked phone, I left the graffiti-covered building behind in favor of more residential streets. Surprise drifted through me as I dragged my gaze along my surroundings. I’d half expected the coven to fall into the whole alt-scene cliché that was quite popular among newer witches who didn’t require strong ties to nature, but as I neared my destination near the Spree, it became clear the coven had more of an…upscale touch in mind for their base.
Though there was nothing flashy about the brick building, it carried an air of something elegant. Something that demanded respect. No trees lined the street, yet an undercurrent of earthly magic dominated the area, giving off a strong impression of wandering through a dark forest at night.
The eyes peering at me from every possible concealed corner definitely played into the effect.
I suppressed a shudder and, head held high, touched my hand to the heavy double-wing wooden doors. Power whisked across my fingers. I jerked but didn’t release the handle as the magic sampled and scanned me.
Faint wisps became a torrent. I ground my teeth as the unwanted presence roamed through my flesh, my essence—
The lock clicked.
A little dizzy from the sudden absence of foreign power, I heaved a breath of relief before pushing down on the now perfectly ordinary handle. The reprieve, however, was brief.
As soon as I entered a short hallway that opened up into an inner courtyard bedecked with potted greens, the magic became a fundamental part of the air. I sorted through the scents, attempting to pick up a trace of the witches, but the fragrance was overpowering. My sneakers made almost no sound on the smooth stones as I advanced, eyes opened and scanning the play of shadows and light up ahead.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
Shit.
I stopped in my tracks, but it was too little too late.
Whips of power lashed at me with brutal ferocity. I twisted out of the way and threw up my free arm, clutching the plastic-wrapped photo close to my body with the other. Pain exploded where the whips landed on my skin, but at least they missed my face and torso.
The lashing continued as I shuffle-walked back towards the short hallway. Fury burned blue deep in my core. If they let me in just to fucking torture me—
An invisible force slammed into my back and sent me careening forward.
I chanced a quick look over my shoulder even as I knew I wouldn’t see anything. Didn’t mean it wasn’t there, though.
I snarled despite the kernel of fear that had edged into my fury.
The damn translucent barrier wouldn’t let me leave this place.
Not until a witch dispelled it.
Another lash landed on my arm, and a touch of blood marred the air.
I thrust out all my damn metaphysical feelers, searching for anything that might give me an advantage. A fucking way out.
But between the whips slicing up my skin and the overpowering presence of magic bearing down on me, my demonic and wolf traits were next to worthless.
I’d walked right into a trap.
12
A growl ripped from my throat. Trapped. I was fucking trapped. And aside from Tilda, no one knew where I was. There’d be no cavalry coming to the rescue. No one to find what remained of my damn magic-shredded body.
I brought my blue flames to the surface of my injured arm, softening the stinging blows but not blocking them entirely. A reprieve I knew wouldn’t last long.
“I’m here to ask for your assistance,” I shouted and trained my gaze past the burning embers.
The courtyard, however, appeared just as empty as it had been when I first set foot within these walls. Appeared being the operative word.
The witches didn’t want to play.
Which only underlined my need to get the fuck out of here.
As if reacting to my growing discomfort, the barrier at my back solidified, becoming a force that moved my damn feet deeper into the courtyard. I struggled against it, but as my sneakers continued to skid across the stones, the magic lashing out at me shifted, transformed into ropes that snaked around my body and chafed my skin.
Fuck. I snarled and unleashed the blue of my demon fire, but the godsdamned magic holding me captive refused to relent. It crushed my ribs, tightened around my neck, and pinned my limbs in place.
If I shifted, I didn’t think I’d come out in one piece.
“I’m here to ask for your assistance,” I croaked again, pushing the words out with what little breath I had left.
My vision swam, darkened—
“Please. I have”—my body swayed—“an offering.”
The invisible ropes dispelled.
I crashed to my knees, and the wrapped photo I’d been clutching clattered onto the stones. The distinct sound of glass breaking grazed my ears, but I was too busy sucking in big gulps of air to worry about the damn broken offering.
Saliva built up in my mouth as a wayward wave of nausea rolled through me. I flattened my palms against the floor, focusing on its summer-warmed surface. Gradually, the veil of darkness coating my vision receded. Instincts urged me to move, to escape while I still could, but I, perhaps foolishly, did no such thing.
With careful slowness, I looked up at long last.
What must have been twenty women lined the edges of the courtyard, all as different from one another at first sight as they could be—except for one thing.
Their magic was a unified, tenebrous thing that seemed alive, almost sentient, connecting them in a way I had never seen before. I didn’t even require my other-sight to pick it up. The threads, while translucent, emitted enough power for my demonic and wolf side to sense them without
effort.
“We’ve had our fair share of ICRA agents sniffing around the coven,” a statuesque brunette said and peeled away from the wall.
Her crown of silver, jewel-adorned moon phases entwined with black roses glistened as she crossed into a rectangle of sunlight directly in front of me. Power flowed from her as if her every breath spurred it into existence.
“But never one who brought an offering.” Her eyes, such a dark blue it flirted with black, skimmed the plastic bundle. “I admit, demon-wolf, you have piqued my curiosity.”
I climbed to my feet and picked up the photograph. “I have a question I wish to ask you.”
Magic swirled around me, as if tasting the truth of my words. Its phantom wind played with my hair, plucking strands of it from my braid that tickled my face. I shoved them back with my free hand.
“Very well.” The witch motioned to my offering. “What do you bring us?”
Unsure whether to move or not, I simply extended my arm. “A cherished photograph bearing the blood of the murdered.”
“Sentiment, memory, and death.” She flicked her gaze from the offering to me. There was hunger in those blue depths, and shit if it didn’t chill me to my bones. Especially as the sensation seemed to whisk from the coven leader through the magic connecting all gathered witches. “You’ve chosen well.”
She accepted the parcel and ran her long, black-painted nails over the soft plastic. Her eyes fluttered shut.
I didn’t attempt to guess what she was doing as moments skidded by. Didn’t want to. But I was damn relieved when the buildup of tension rolled outwards, whisking away with it the oppressive magic. The potted greens rustled.
“You may ask your question, Lotte Freundenberger.”
My insides froze at the sound of my name on the witch’s lips, but I knew better than to react. Another scare tactic. Another play for power.
