by Keri Arthur
“Finish it off myself!”
He chuckled again and then complied, his tongue an instrument of utter delight. My orgasm hit hard, and satisfaction rumbled up his throat as I shuddered and shook. The aftershocks had barely eased when he rose above me, his gaze holding mine, his eyes burning with desire and something that was almost proprietary.
Then, with tortuous slowness, he slipped inside me. The feel of him, so hard and hot, penetrated every fiber, enveloping me in a heat that was basic and yet so very powerful. He began to move, gradually at first and then more urgently, until his thrusts were so fierce the entire bed shook. Desire stirred anew, flooding swiftly through me, until every inch ached with desperate need.
“Oh God, Aiden…”
The plea had barely left my lips when the shuddering began and another orgasm hit. He followed me over that abyss, his lips catching mine, kissing me hard until bliss had ebbed and sanity returned.
“That,” he murmured, slipping to one side and then gathering me in his arms, “was glorious.”
“Hmmm,” I murmured, unable to get anything more sensible out.
He laughed softly and planted a kiss on my shoulder. “Isn’t it the male who’s supposed to fall straight asleep after sex?”
“This is an equal opportunity relationship.” I yawned as hugely as he had earlier. “Which means it’s your turn to cook in the morning.”
“Done.” He tucked me a little closer, his body warm against my spine. “Night, gorgeous.”
“Night,” I murmured, and for the first time in days, fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
We were deep in the midst of the lunchtime rush the following day when unease prickled down my spine. I collected the empty plates on the table I was wiping down and surreptitiously studied the nearby ones. There were a few new faces interspersed between the old, but none of them set off my internal radar. I frowned and walked back to the kitchen, handing the plates to Frank—our kitchen hand—before joining Belle behind the counter.
She took one look at my face and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” My gaze swept the café. From here, all the tables were visible, and not one of them had anyone that in any way spelled trouble. “I’m just getting this weird vibe that shit is about to hit.”
Belle placed two lattes beside a slice of honeycomb cheesecake and a chocolate brownie, and then shoved the tray forward for Penny—our full-time waitress—to collect. “The reservation, the café, or us personally?”
“Undefined.”
“Unhelpful.”
I smiled. “That’s not exactly unusual when it comes to my prophetic abilities.”
“True.” She briefly scanned the room. “I’m not sensing anything or anyone untoward—”
She stopped abruptly and her gaze widened. Fuck, get upstairs. Now.
Why? I said, even as I turned and bolted for the stairs.
An unknown witch is about to step inside the café, Belle said. And she’s protected telepathically.
I silently swore. While there could be a number of logical reasons for a witch to be wearing such a band, both trepidation and instinct were warning her doing so as she was about to step into our café was no accident.
I was halfway up the stairs and out of immediate sight when the small bell above the door chimed. A tremor ran across the lines of magic protecting the café as the unknown witch stepped inside; that reaction, however minor, said that while her intent wasn’t malicious, our spells were nevertheless uncertain as to her actual purpose for being here. But it obviously wasn’t just for coffee and something to eat.
I scooted around the corner and then stopped, leaning against my bedroom door and sucking in great gulps of air.
Goddammit, she has the coloring of a Sarr, Belle said.
Someone you know? Or worse—at least from a secrecy point of view—someone from her family?
I don’t immediately recognize her, but I’ve lots of cousins and she could be any one of those. If you connect on a deeper level, you’ll be able to see—
If she’s a tracer sent here to suss us out, she might well sense my presence in your mind.
If she’s a tracer, she’s going to sense your presence even with all the additional spell layers on the upper floor.
True, but it’s still a risk I’d rather not take. I paused. Has she spotted you?
Not yet. I’m standing behind the coffee machine. She’s currently just looking around.
I’ll contact Monty and see if he’s been advised of her presence.
He would have warned us.
Unless she spelled him into silence.
She doesn’t feel strong enough to have pulled something like that on him.
Then maybe it was Canberra itself.
Not even the strongest witch on the council could place a restriction spell on another witch over such a long distance.
The strongest witches on the council were my damn parents and husband, and I wouldn’t use the word ‘couldn’t’ in any sentence when it came to the three of them.
I got out my phone, then quietly moved away from the stairs so there was no chance of my conversation being heard downstairs—no matter how unlikely that even was given the clatter of cutlery and plates and the overall buzz of conversation.
Monty answered second ring. “If you’re wanting an update on the flesh strippers, talk to your ranger. He hasn’t given me squat so far today.”
“That’s not—”
“So there’s been another murder?”
“No, and will you just let me finish?”
He must have heard the anxiety in my voice, because all humor fell from his voice. “What’s the problem?”
“Did you get any sort of notice from Canberra about a tracer being sent here?”
“No, and you know I would have told you if I had. I take it such a witch has arrived?”
“She’s in the café right now.”
“And you’re certain she’s here to snoop?”
“My sixth sense is.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks, Monty.”
I wasn’t sure what he could do, but he was the reservation witch and should have been advised of this witch’s presence if she was here at the council’s behest.
I shoved my phone away and resisted the urged to pace. I needed to keep calm and not do anything that could be felt along the magical lines by the woman below. I didn’t know much about tracers aside from the fact they were basically magical bloodhounds able to pick up the ‘scent’ of a spell and trace it back to its originator. If she was here for me, then the one thing in my favor was the fact that none of the spells I’d created before I’d fled Canberra would be active now—and even if some were, the signature of those spells would be vastly different to the ones I created now, thanks in part to the presence of the wild magic.
Fuck, Belle said. She’s got an old photo of you and is asking Penny if she’s seen you. Says you’re believed to be working here somewhere.
I closed my eyes against the surge of panic. This was it. This was the first step in us being found. And there was nothing I could do to avoid it—not now. Even if we did attempt to alter the tracer’s memories, it would do no good. Belle might be a powerful telepath but even she couldn’t entirely erase her mental ‘fingerprints’ in someone else’s mind. Another telepath would see the signs even if they couldn’t undo what she’d done. It might even be enough to draw Clayton out of his Canberra cave to reclaim his bride and fully consummate the marriage.
The memory of cold hands on unresponsive flesh stirred, and a deep shudder ran through me. I swallowed against the bitter rise of bile and said, And Penny’s response?
That it’s illegal to employ anyone that young in this reservation.
Despite the tension, I couldn’t help but smile. Has the tracer spotted you yet?
She’s headed my way now.
The impending sense of doom ramped up several degrees. I closed my eyes, tr
ying to remain calm, trying not to panic.
Succeeding to do neither.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Belle said, her voice echoing my panic, Oh fuck, Liz, she is a goddamn Sarr.
Ten
A cousin?
Probably, because Daniela is a very popular name in my branch of the family tree.
But you don’t immediately recognize her?
No, but I’ve a bad feeling she knows who I am.
It was usually me getting the bad feelings. If Belle was getting them, then things were catastrophic. If there’s one thing in our favor, it’s the fact that you no longer resemble that scrawny teenager.
Yeah, but how many Sarr witches hang around a witch who looks like a Marlowe?
Not many at all. Except she’s looking for a witch with green eyes, not silver. It’s something.
I’m not sure it’ll be enough. She’s obviously done some research on our fake identities.
There was another long stretch of silence. I knew Belle was answering the woman’s questions, but tension sawed at me. I wanted to know what was happening—needed to know what was happening—but I dare not touch Belle’s thoughts any deeper because I had no idea just how sensitive tracers were. If Ashworth had sensed the merging of our magics when we’d been standing together, then it was logical a magical bloodhound would be more than capable of such a feat—and maybe even be able to do so when neither of us were in the same room, but simply connected mind to mind.
She knew who I was before I said anything, Belle commented eventually. So she has done her homework.
Meaning she’ll also be well aware your partner is one Elizabeth Grace.
Most likely. And I never thought I’d ever be happy to see him, but Monty just arrived.
And?
He’s hobbled straight up to the other witch and asked what the hell she was doing in his reservation.
I smiled. I can just imagine the indignant tone and expression.
Oh yeah, he’s putting on a full show. She paused. Daniela is apologizing profusely for not advising him of her presence and purpose. She says she was unaware the reservation position had been filled.
You buying that excuse?
Nope. And neither is Monty.
He was no fool, even if he sometimes acted it. Is she quizzing him?
Yes. She showed him the photo and said she’s looking for Elizabeth Marlowe, who disappeared from the capital a few years ago.
Fabulous. I scrubbed a hand through my hair and dislodged the hairband holding my ponytail. I swore, picked it up, and looped it back into place. The photo can’t be a recent one.
If there was one thing Belle and I had been very careful about, it was putting up photos on social media.
It’s not—you’re probably thirteen or fourteen in it.
Meaning there was a small chance she wouldn’t take one look at me and make the connection. I’d been a late developer, and my curves hadn’t really blossomed until I was nearly eighteen. Add that to the eye color change and there was a hope—a small sliver of hope—that she wouldn’t make the connection. Although the silver eyes did make me look like my mother.
And at least half a dozen of your cousins, Belle commented. But as far as anyone in Canberra is concerned, your eyes are green. Eyes generally don’t change color, so it may be our saving grace.
Except for the fact I’m obviously a blueblood and you’re obviously a Sarr, and she’s looking for one if not both.
True. Belle’s uncertainty and fear ran down the mental line, sharpening my own. She and Monty are sitting down for a coffee and a friendly chat.
I bit back the urge to swear. I knew well enough that he intended nothing more than to ease the tracer’s suspicions about the café and its owners, but the longer she spent here, the more time she could study the magic protecting this place and pick out the deeper similarities to whatever spell she was using to trace me.
If she was using a spell, that was. It was always possible she was here thanks to the Interspecies Investigations Report that had been submitted to Canberra some months ago. That report—a summation of the actions taken after a vampire had killed a human within the reservation—had apparently mentioned our presence, however offhand it might have been.
I scrubbed my hands across my eyes. If I don’t appear, she’s going to think it suspicious.
Yes. Belle paused. Monty’s giving me a weird look. Hang on while I connect.
Monty wasn’t telepathic in any way, shape, or form, but he didn’t have to be. Belle could simply skim his thoughts to get the gist of what he wanted. I switched my weight from one foot to the other and tried to curb my impatience.
Okay, Monty’s also of the opinion you need to come down, but he suggests I disappear upstairs so we’re not seen together.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I could do this. I had to do this. But first, a few changes. I spun and ran for the bathroom. After sweeping my hair into a tight bun, I hurriedly applied some eyeliner to alter the appearance of my eyes and then eye shadow to enhance the color of them. The result certainly made the color of my eyes pop, but would it be enough? I crossed mental fingers and then said, Meet you on the stairs, then.
I resolutely strode toward them. Belle touched my arm on her way up, an encouragement that didn’t help much. I plastered a smile on my face then walked around the counter to take care of the waiting orders.
Penny appeared and slid another one across the counter to me. “It’s for Monty’s table, and they’d like to speak to you when you have the chance.”
“Thanks, Penny.”
She nodded, then picked up the latte and hot chocolate I’d just made and whisked them away to their waiting table. I finished the rest of the orders, then made Monty’s and Daniela’s. After another deep breath that didn’t do a whole lot to calm the sick churning in my gut, I picked up the cups and walked across to them. Monty’s welcoming smile was bright, but his eyes were filled with all sorts of warning.
He wants you to be calm and casual, Belle said.
Like I’m normally not?
Not when it comes to your family. He says your panic is often visible in your eyes.
Nothing much I can do about that. I placed their cups on the table and then said, “You wanted to speak to me?”
“This is Daniela Sarr,” Monty said smoothly. “She’s here searching for a missing witch.”
“There’s not many of us in this res; if any were missing, you’d know about it more than me.” I glanced at Daniela, my smile pleasant enough. Her eyes narrowed a little when her gaze met mine. She’d been expecting green, not silver. “I’m not sure how I can help unless you think she might be one of our customers.”
“Possibly.” Her voice was a familiar echo of Belle’s deep, rich tone. She pushed the photograph across the table toward me. “Have you seen her around?”
I studied the photo, outwardly calm, inwardly a screaming mess. It had been taken on a family outing on a yacht owned by a politician trying to curry favor with my dad, and it was a day I remembered clearly simply because of how seasick I’d gotten. Even in this photo, as old as it was, I looked rather green around the edges.
But there was no point in avoiding the obvious.
“Other than her eyes, she could almost be my sister.”
“Eye color can be changed easily enough with contacts. Lean forward.”
I hesitated then obeyed, and hoped like hell she couldn’t hear the hammering of my heart. Her gaze searched mine for several, very long seconds, and then she grunted. Her expression was an odd mix of suspicion and confusion.
The latter did nothing to ease the inner fear. “I take it the woman in the photo is not a full-blood?”
“Quite the opposite,” Daniela said. “Her parents are in fact Eleanor and Lawrence Marlowe.”
“Who I presume are persons of significance in Canberra, given the gravitas you’ve placed on their names.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You don’t kn
ow them?”
“Why would I? I grew up in Darwin.” I shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think the woman in the photo has been here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’d remember seeing someone who looks like me.” My voice was dry, the inner turmoil absent. “But if you can grab something personal of hers—something she wears everyday—I might be able to track her for you.”
“That is an impossibility, I’m afraid.”
“Then I’m not sure how else I can help.” I hesitated, wanting to run but resisting the urge. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes,” she said. “The spells around this café? They have an unusual method of construction.”
I smiled, even as my stomach flip-flopped. “So Monty and every other witch who has walked in here has said.”
“They are your spells, then?”
“Not just mine. I wove some, Belle wove some, and somehow, the wild magic got mixed up in it all.”
“The wild magic has a habit of doing that,” Monty said. “I’ve sent reports back to Canberra about it.”
She nodded and leaned back in her chair to study me for a second. “According to your birth certificate, your parents were human. You shouldn’t be capable of any magic, let alone magic this strong.”
I raised my eyebrows, feigning alarm. “You’ve been checking up on me? Why? What have I done?”
She waved a hand, a motion that was meant to be reassuring. “Nothing. I simply did some research on all witches who currently inhabit this reservation. One can never be too careful.”
One couldn’t—it was a motto I’d lived the last twelve years by.
“Why?” I gestured at the photo she’d yet to pick up. “Do you think we’re responsible for this woman’s disappearance?”
“No. But hiding secrets? Most definitely.”
Which we are, Belle said.
Yes, but just how deeply into the puzzle we present is she willing to go?
Deep enough to make her dangerous.
I take it you’ve managed to get through her shields?
Only enough to catch emotions more than distinct thoughts, Belle said. This psi protection band is far stronger than the ones the IIS or even Monty had on.
