Taken hostage in Paris...

...but bound by desire

Tired of his desk job, Ethan Pierce decides it’s time for a more exciting occupation. This straitlaced vampire may be ready for demons and blood magic, but nothing can prepare him for Tuesday Knightsbridge. She’s brash, she’s bold and she’s the sexiest woman he’s ever met. She also happens to be a witch...and the key to saving the world.

MICHELE HAUF is a USA TODAY bestselling author who has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com.

Also by Michele Hauf

Her Werewolf HeroA Venetian VampireTaming the HunterThe Witch’s QuestThe Witch and the WerewolfAn American Witch in ParisThe Dark’s MistressGhost WolfMoonlight and DiamondsThe Vampire’s Fall

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

An American Witch in Paris

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08201-3

AN AMERICAN WITCH IN PARIS

© 2018 Michele Hauf

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for the witch in me.

And it’s for the witch in you.

Honor your soul for what it has been,

is now and will be. Namaste.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Extract

Chapter 1

Ethan Pierce stood before a steel-barred cage in the Acquisitions department’s clean room. He was the director of the department, which was responsible for hunting, collecting and containing objects of magical nature, dangerous curses and talismans, even volatile creatures that may prove harmful to common humans if left unmonitored in the mortal realm. Ethan sent retrievers out on jobs that canvassed the world, and those adventuring professionals returned with the items.

This latest acquisition, brought in hours earlier by the retriever Bron Everhart, was needed to help locate an even more important item. For what Acquisitions ultimately sought was the blood demon Gazariel, who had stolen the code for the Final Days. If that code was to be activated, all the angels from Above would fall and smother the mortal realm with their smoldering wings. Literally. And the only way to find the demon was with the one thing in this world that wore its sigil.

“A witch,” Ethan muttered as he paced before the cage.

Behind the steel bars, which were warded to keep in the subject, yet also wired with electricity to keep her docile and hamper any magic she should attempt to use in defense, stood the witch. She was a head shorter than Ethan, thin and dressed in clingy black leggings, fierce-looking black ankle boots with high heels and a silky black shirt that revealed a toned abdomen. Over it all she wore a heavy coat made of what looked like fake gray fur, which was studded with silver and black spangles. Her long white hair spilled forward, concealing one eye, and fell messily over one shoulder to her waist.

The other eye held him intently. It was a blue eye, the iris circled with black as if someone had drawn those eyes to be colored in. And on her eyelids, black shadow granted plenty Gothic melodrama. All together the look was...

Wicked, Ethan thought.

Hatred was too strong a word to apply to his feelings about witches as a species. Not all witches were evil or malicious. Yet he’d never completely get over his dislike for witches. They’d once held a murderous reign over his species, vampires, when their blood had been poisonous. One dip of the fang into a witch’s vein could bring an ugly and permanent death. That was no longer. The Great Protection Spell, which had turned all witches’ blood poisonous, had been broken decades earlier.

Rationally, Ethan knew not all witches were dangerous. And besides, it was the twenty-first century. Things had changed. He worked with a few witches here at Acquisitions and the overseeing department, the Archives. For the most part, witches of the light were safe and trustworthy.

But the dark witches, such as the one standing in the cage before him? A shudder traced Ethan’s spine.

The witch didn’t move, only held his gaze, as if breaking it might arrest her breathing. And he wasn’t about to look away. He must show her his dominance. In order to work with the witch to find the demon, she must be kept under control. Subdued. Yet her magic should remain accessible, which would keep the sigil she supposedly wore somewhere on her body open and ready to lure in the demon Gazariel.

Capturing this specific demon would prove a challenge. All perfunctory means of tracking him through Acquisitions’ database had turned up nothing, though intel revealed that he was definitely in Paris.

Upon receiving orders to obtain the missing Final Days code—from a highly unprecedented command—Ethan had considered all the dozens of retrievers he had on staff. Who could do the job? Most were currently on assignment. None were stationed in Paris at the moment. But that wasn’t the problem; any retriever was available and on call 24/7, able to move about worldwide.

The problem was that blood magic may be required to hold the demon once found. And the best one to deal with such magic? A vampire. Of which Ethan had been since his birth in the 1500s. Of course, he wasn’t willing to give his own blood for this mission, but he didn’t expect he would have to. He’d learned once that his blood could have a devastating effect on another being.

He never made the same mistake twice.

It had been decades, maybe even close to a century, since Ethan had gone out on a job. He’d become complacent, sitting behind a desk, clacking away at reports on the laptop and ordering others around. He loved his job. He did it well.

And yet, the call to adventure, to get out and actually participate in life again, was too strong to resist. He’d once stood alongside his fellow warrior vampires in the Blood Wars of the sixteenth century, defeating werewolves and slaying random witches who would deign to assist the nasty wolves. Then, he had been undefeatable, powerful and virile. He still was. The urge to exercise his soul beyond the paperwork and office politics was strong.

So Ethan had assigned this job to himself. His knowledge on the various demon breeds was minimal, yet he knew Paris, and more importantly, had the determination to root out the target. And he was the perfect partner for a witch. He wouldn’t fall under her spell or forget for one moment who or what he was dealing with.

A dark witch who wore the demon Gazariel’s mark.

* * *

The deflecting vibrations coming off the steel bars were strong, electronic in nature, but Tuesday didn’t allow that to bother her. Yet. What was more disturbing was how she’d just been sitting in a bar, nursing a pink Panty Dropper cocktail, and then the world had gone black. And now she was standing in a cage.

Had someone roofied her? She always wore protective wards to deflect any silly human trick. And a clasp of the obsidian crystal that hung from a leather cord around her neck and above her breasts confirmed they hadn’t removed her grounding and protective wards. That could only mean someone with power greater than hers—and was aware of who and what she was—had been able to drug her, kidnap her and cage her.

And while that realization was humiliating she had to remain calm and focused. She wasn’t about to let the vampire see her sweat. No weakness here, buddy.

She knew the man was vampire because his red, ashy aura gave him away. Very few witches had the Sight—an ability to see vampire auras. Tuesday found it more of a nuisance. There were so many vampires walking the world. Sometimes the frequency of red glows in large, overcrowded cities annoyed her. Seriously. The biters were everywhere.

Not that there was anything wrong with vamps. Every once in a while, she didn’t mind the occasional bite with a side of no-strings sex.

The vampire had been observing her for a few minutes. Hadn’t said a word. He’d strode into the large, steel-walled, hexagon-shaped room, which only contained the cage and her, and had turned on the lights, which were blue LEDs along the floors and one blindingly white overhead spotlight.

He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his clean black jeans, which fit well, and were tucked into his combat boots. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows to display muscled forearms dusted with dark hair to match the slicked and cropped hair on his head. From under the shirt, a glimpse of a gray T-shirt hung over his pants. He looked to be strong, a force. And his carriage screamed of discipline, perhaps even military.

A smartly trimmed beard hugged his jaw and a neat mustache framed his solemn mouth. Sprinkled under his lower lip were gray strands amongst the dark brown. His face was expressionless, yet his gray eyes saw everything.

Her unprofessional assessment said that he looked world-weary. Like he’d been doing this far too long and needed a break. Although, what it was that he’d been doing, exactly, she had no clue.

“I’m Ethan Pierce,” he finally said. His voice was deep and not unfriendly, and while he used English, he had a noticeable French accent. Tuesday had known a few Frenchmen in her lifetime. She’d visited France a couple times over the centuries.

“And you are Tuesday Knightsbridge,” he stated.

He didn’t score points for knowing her name. Unless kidnapping random witches was a thing nowadays.

Maintaining her stance, Tuesday held his gaze. But now he swept his eyes back and forth, and his hands slid out of his pockets to clasp before him. Classic villain hand-twist pose? Check, please!

“Do you know where you are?” he asked.

She wasn’t ready to speak. Of course she knew where she was. She stood in a frigging cage.

“Not talking? I can deal with that. For now. You are in a holding cell at Acquisitions. We’re a division of the Council’s Archives.”

The Council? That was a supposedly nonviolent ruling board that oversaw the actions of the world’s paranormal nations, and was composed of various species to represent most. But they were watchers; they never interfered.

Guess that was a myth.

“In Paris,” he said.

Paris? What the—? She’d been flown across the ocean, from her current residence of Boston, Massachusetts, to France?

Anger rising, Tuesday lunged forward, gripping the steel bars. Vicious electricity zapped at her fingers, and she released them, taking the brunt of the shocking force through her body. She was violently tossed backward to land on her ass in the center of the cage. Legs splayed, she shook off a shiver. Her fur coat slipped down her shoulders to her wrists. She sucked in a gulp of air.

The man smirked. “By the way, those bars are activated.”

Tuesday flicked up the sign of the Devil and growled, “Be taken to Beneath!”

“She speaks. And with a curse, of all things. I would expect nothing less from a dark witch. But the cage is warded. As is this clean room. No magic can get in or out. Nice try, though.”

Oh, he wanted a curse? Utterly incensed, Tuesday spread out her fingers and focused a stream of magic at the man’s crotch. “Languidulus!”

While normally invisible, once her magic hit the cage bars, a shot of violet light bounced off and splintered in dying pink embers onto the cage floor.

“What was that?” The vampire’s smirk was annoyingly sexy. “Another curse? Did you try to give me a tail?”

Tuesday smiled nicely and tilted her head. “Actually, I cursed your dick to forever remain limp. And my magic is much stronger than you can imagine. I’d invest in Viagra, if I were you.” She winked at him.

The slightest flinch moved the corner of one of his eyes. Bull’s-eye. She could get under the man’s skin. With mere words. This predicament was going to prove an easy escape. She just had to dig under his outer machismo to access the key.

But Paris? That meant she’d been out, at the very least, for eight or nine hours. And moved around according to this bastard’s will. Not cool.

“What the hell is the benevolent Council doing sending someone to kidnap me?” she asked. Standing, her heels clicked on the cage floor. She shook out the alpaca fur coat she wore over black leggings and a comfy shirt. The coat was spangled in warding designs. A Tibetan monk had initially made it for her. A glitter sidhe-witch had sewn on the wards a few years ago. “And who the fuck is Ethan Pierce?”

“I’m the director of Acquisitions. We acquire things that need to be locked away. Behind chains and wards.”

“And you think I need to be locked away?” She flipped him the bird. Yeah, so it wasn’t a hex. Some common gestures were much more to the point.

“Actually, Acquisitions needs you to get to what we really want.”

“Which is?”

“The blood demon Gazariel.”

Tuesday’s hand slapped across her chest, below the obsidian crystal. Though rarely spoken, the sound of that demon’s name always provoked such an action. She could feel his sigil burn her skin under the silk shirt.

“We know you wear the demon’s sigil,” Ethan explained. “Got it in the seventeenth century, if our records are accurate. Will you show it to me?”

She wouldn’t give him anything. Not until she heard what weird and strange plans he—they; Acquisitions?—had for her.

“The sigil is some kind of blood curse, yes?” He paced a few steps to the side then turned back to her. “Doesn’t matter how you got it. Or what it does. But I’ve been told, because of your connection to the demon, it makes you one of the darkest of the dark witches. I don’t like dark witches, by the way.”

“Would have never guessed. Your hosting skills are severely lacking. And I don’t care what the hell you are, Pierce, I don’t like you.”

“I’m vampire.”

“I knew that.” She sneered. “A flesh pricker. Who is also a Richard.”

“A... Richard?” The man narrowed his eyes and shrugged in question.

“Think about it a bit,” she offered. He’d get it, sooner or later. “So you think you have the right to pluck any old witch off the streets and force her to do your bidding?”

“I wouldn’t use the word force. But you are old, aren’t you?”

His self-satisfied smirk did not rile her. Too much. Age was relative when a person had immortality; he should know that. She snapped the rubber band she wore about her wrist. The man would not like to see her dark magic in all its wicked glory.

“You have been brought to Paris to assist us in locating Gazariel.”

The sigil she’d worn since the seventeenth century burned over her skin. “Quit saying that name,” she insisted. “You only grant the demon more power with each utterance. Do you know that?”

Apparently he did not.

The man hung his head for a few seconds, then looked up at her. “I know my demon lore. Basically. The saying a name three times thing generally only works with Himself. Demons are much more slippery when it comes to summoning them. Which is why you are here in Paris.”

Paris! She could not believe this.

“Now, you’ll serve to lure the demon to us—me, since I’m in charge of this mission—and then I will obtain from him what we seek to contain.”

“The demon has something you want?”

He nodded. “It’s dangerous to all. In the demon’s hands, the world could be destroyed.”

Tuesday scoffed. Always so dramatic with the end-of-the-world crap. It was never a small portion of the world, but the whole thing. What kind of villain would even think to destroy a world he would like to remain on to rule? The demon couldn’t rule anything if he didn’t have followers to bow down to him. End of the world, her ass.

But then she considered what she knew about Gazariel. He was a trickster. His title was The Beautiful One. Because he was a pretty bit of charm and allure. Vain and self-serving, as well. And deadly. He liked to take advantage of a person when they were at their lowest, defeated. But most importantly, he was an asshole. And she didn’t want to get any closer to him than she already was. Wearing his sigil did not make her his bitch—so long as she kept her distance from him.

“So let me get this straight.” She walked up to the bars until the shock waves from the wards teased at her skin and lifted the hairs in her pores. Must have been warded by another dark witch with a tech edge. It messed with her personal vibrations, so she took a step back and, with a thought, pulled a white light over herself. All she could manage in this damnable cage was a weak veil, but it gave her some solace. “You want to dangle me before the demon as bait?”

The man tapped a finger against his jaw, then nodded. “Yes, that’s about it.”

She turned and paced in a half arc, hands to her hips, head down in thought. A glance to the man’s face found him stoic, trying to show her he would not back down, no matter what. Tough guy, pushing around a helpless woman. Been there, done that. Never going to let it happen again.

If she should refuse him, he would force her. And enjoy it. Typical male.

But he didn’t know Tuesday Knightsbridge at all. Helplessness was not a condition she had ever ascribed to. And that would give her the upper hand.

“Sounds like fun,” she said cheerily. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 2

Another man entered the clean room and Tuesday immediately felt familiar vibrations flow off of him. Another dark witch. He was tall and lean, and everything about him was black, from his long straight hair and thin mustache to his clothing. Spell tattoos covered his hands and exposed neck. A coil of thin rope was attached to his hip holster à la the Wild West. Weird. Also, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“You’ve got her in a cage?” he said to the vampire. “What the hell?”

“She’s dangerous,” Ethan said.

Yeah, and don’t forget it, buddy. But Tuesday didn’t say that.

Instead she crossed her arms and stood in the cage center, taking in her opponents. The dark one was on alert in his movements as he walked around the cage as if sizing up an animal. Shame threatened to rise up in her. She’d been made to feel like less than dirt many times before. Always by those who claimed witches were foul and evil things, and who would seek to allay their shortcomings and misguided beliefs by harming her. But that had been centuries ago.

Would this world never get a clue and drop the old, ingrained prejudices?

“This is Certainly Jones,” Ethan said to her. “He’s head of the Archives and our resident dark witch.”

“Are you okay? Have you been treated well?” Certainly asked her. A touch of British accented his voice, and his tone felt calming.

“I’ve been kidnapped. Most likely drugged. I’m hungry. And I have to pee,” she offered. “How’s tricks with you?”

He stopped before the front of the cage and looked over his shoulder at the militant vampire. “You should feed her. And let her go to the bathroom.”

“As soon as we’ve shackled her, she can do whatever she desires.”

“Shackle?” Tuesday closed her eyes, fisting her fingers at her sides. “What the hell is going on?”

“We need you to work for us. You’ve agreed, saying it would be fun,” Ethan said. “But in order to work alongside me you’ll have to be out of this cage. And I can’t risk you running off or using your magic against me. CJ here has a simple shackle spell that’ll keep you subdued.”

“You are a—” She lunged, aiming to grasp through the cage bars, but too late, she remembered it was electrified. The jolt sent her flying backward again to land on her back in a sprawl. “I hate you!”

“I don’t need you to like me. I just need you to help me find Gazariel.”

“Stop saying that bastard’s name,” she said from her position on the floor. Humiliated and utterly exhausted, she wasn’t about to pull herself up until he gave her a good reason to do so.

“Saying the demon’s name won’t invoke him,” Certainly said.

“I know that. I just hate his name. You think the two of us were friends? That’s why I’m wearing his sigil?” Letting her head fall back, she flipped them both the bird from the floor.

“She’s definitely going to be a handful,” Certainly commented. “Open the cage and let me in. I’ve got this rope bespelled to shackle her.”

The dark witch was coming inside with her? Well...she wasn’t in the mood to fight him. And he thought to shackle her with a rope spell? That wasn’t going to go as successfully for him as he expected. Tuesday decided to play along. Just for giggles.

The bars suddenly flickered with static and then Tuesday felt the electric energy shut off. The cage door swung open with a creak. She remained splayed on the floor as the dark witch stepped up into the cage and padded over and stood above her. The door closed and she heard the vampire twist the lock then tap in a digital code.

“I’m sorry about this,” Certainly said. “I know you didn’t ask for this, but sometimes things have to be done to ensure worse things don’t happen.”

“Now you’re going to tell me not to blame you and that we can all get along, right? Peace, love and ‘Kumbaya’? Get it done with, witch. I do need to use the facilities.”

“Will you stand, please?”

Tuesday held up her hand and gestured for him to grab it to help her stand. As he did so, she felt his magic jolt against her own. He was strong, but not as powerful as her. But he was cute, and she had a plan, so she was going to let him off easy. Mostly. And hell, she wasn’t sure she could even invoke her magic inside this crazy warded cage. But she wouldn’t be Tuesday Knightsbridge if she didn’t give it a go.

She slapped her palms to his temples and fixed her gaze onto his intense jade eyes. Before he knew to look away she fixed onto his soul. It was a witch’s skill, to hold a soul fix on another witch. She felt his inner struggle, his need to close his eyes and lock her out. But she had been doing this far too long to allow anyone escape from her delving soul gaze.

The witch’s soul was dark to the core. Less than two centuries old, he’d walked a free and defiant path. He was...connected closely to another. A twin? Yes, he had a twin brother for whom he held great love and respect. He’d once carried dozens of demons within him after a trip to Daemonia. Some of those demons had made him hurt himself. Others had taught him to care more deeply than he could have fathomed. And...the man loved deeply. Another witch, who was mother to his one-year-old twin sons.

That feeling, the emotion of unconditional love that flooded the man’s system, pricked at Tuesday’s willpower. She winced, fearing what may happen should she allow herself to linger in his eyes. To fall into the deep and devastating emotion of love.

Tuesday released the man and he stumbled backward, catching himself before he hit the bars.

“What did she do to you?” Ethan asked from outside the cage.

“I’m...fine,” Certainly said, catching his hands on his knees and huffing. It took a lot out of a person to have his soul tapped. “She just...”

“I looked into his soul,” Tuesday explained to Ethan. “I like this one. He’s strong.” She pointed at the vampire. “You. I do not like.”

“We’ve already discussed our mutual lack of admiration for one another. Like isn’t a requirement to work together. You going to be okay, CJ?”

The dark witch nodded. “Yep. Just gathering back my wits.” He straightened and snapped the simple rope before him in warning. “You going to behave?”

Tuesday nodded. “I saw your wife. You love her very much.”

“I would die for her,” Certainly said with an ease that tugged at Tuesday’s hardened heart. Because she believed that he would. What a lucky woman.

Romantics and silly sops would have a person believe love was the be-all and end-all. Whatever.

“Get on with it.”

She held her hands before her, wrists together, waiting to be bound. The rope wouldn’t impact her movement or physical health. It would keep her from performing any sort of magic, hex, spell or charm. But if the rope was damaged after the spell had been cast...

“On second thought,” she said, “it’ll work better if you drape it across my chest.”

“Across your heart,” Certainly said. “Good idea. And you will need the use of your hands.” He lowered the lariat over her head and rested it on a shoulder, then draped it across her heart to fall between her breasts. “You’re going to have to remove the crystal.”

“I never take it off.”

“The spell won’t fix otherwise.”

She shook her head and clasped the cool obsidian.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Certainly asked.

“Did they drug me?” she asked quietly. “Just tell me what they used to incapacitate me.”

“I don’t know for sure. Henbane, possibly?”

Tuesday nodded. Henbane, when mixed with a vile adjuvant, could take out a witch for the better part of a day. Damn it! Her wards should have caught that.

Certainly Jones could prove an ally if she played her cards right. But for now she must submit in order to gain freedom. She pulled the leather cord from around her neck and handed it to him. “That must be returned to me immediately.”

“It will. You’ll be able to wear it after I’ve cast the spell.” He tucked the crystal in his front pocket, then jumped a little in reaction.

“It’s not yours to possess,” Tuesday warned. “It will come back to me quickly.”

“I get that.” He tapped the rope. “This will shackle your magic only against Ethan Pierce. You will still be able to wield magic in all other instances. It may be necessary to protect yourself against the demon.”

“I appreciate that. What the hell is that guy?”

Certainly looked over a shoulder. Ethan paced, arms across his chest.

“Vampire.”

“I know that. I mean, what’s his deal? He’s so...angry.”

“Really? This coming from the angriest witch I’ve ever met?”

“You guys did kidnap me.”

“Point taken. Don’t give Pierce such a hard time. He generally works behind the desk telling others what to do. But I think this time it’s personal.”

“How so?”

Certainly shrugged. “Not sure. And even if I did have a clue? That’s for him to give to you, not me. Close your eyes.”

Tuesday did so because she was tired and wanted to get out of this stupid cage. Much as shackling her magic against anyone would piss her off, at the very least he wasn’t completely disabling her.

The witch chanted a spell that caused the rope to suddenly squeeze about her. She felt the sigil beneath her shirt warm and reach out for the rope. It didn’t like being controlled. Which was a good thing. And she counted on its retaliation.

In a matter of moments the witch said, “So mote it be.”

And the rope fell slack again, as if an ill-hung necklace. Tuesday let out a breath. Her skin tingled, but otherwise, she didn’t feel any different. In the next instant, the obsidian on the cord flew out from the witch’s pocket and landed smartly in Tuesday’s grasp.

The cage door opened and Ethan asked, “How will we know it worked?”

“It worked.” CJ stepped out of the cage. “My magic always works.” He winked at Tuesday. “I’m sorry, but the rope is the shackle. You’ll have to figure out your own style for that.” He turned to Ethan. “You going to take her upstairs for a bit, then...off to adventure?”

The men shared a look that was a few seconds too long for Tuesday not to wonder what had gone unspoken.

“Right,” Ethan suddenly said. “I’ve got some things to finish up in the office. Come on, witch.”

“Really? You’re going to let your new pet out on a leash?” She flopped the lariat around before her. “Aren’t you the kindest master ever.”

“Good luck,” CJ said and wandered out of the room.

“Get out of the cage, witch.”

She stepped up to the threshold. “My name is Tuesday. Treat me well and I will return the kindness.”

Ethan nodded. “Lead me to the demon and I’ll be more than grateful.”

“I’m not going to lead you anywhere without cold hard cash.”

“What?”

“You think I’m going to do this for nothing? Slavery went out last century. If you want me to cooperate we need to talk money.” She jumped down onto the concrete floor, blessedly relieved to have left the smothering confines of that magic-busting cage. With a shiver and a flip of her hair over her shoulder, she walked up to the man.

He stood a head higher than her, but she was accustomed to looking up to people, mostly men. Her stance spoke louder than her lacking height.

“How much do you want?” he asked, surprising her that he hadn’t argued.

“A million. US dollars, not your freaky French euros.”

He broke out into throaty laughter that, in any other circumstance, might have grasped her by the lusting heart and teased her to flutter her lashes at him. But this was not any other time. With a flick of her forefinger, Tuesday tossed a beam of pain at the vampire. The magic burst into a spray of violet sparks just inches from his face and dispersed.

Damn shackle.

“Good to see CJ’s spell works,” he said. “Tough luck, witch. I’m impervious to your magic now.”

Only so long as the shackle stayed in place. And her sigil was so hot that it could burn through pretty much anything right now...

“Half a million then,” she said.

“Ten grand.”

Tuesday spun and jumped up into the cage opening. “I think I’ll stay here then. Apparently, I’m the only one who can do what you need done. I’m worth more than a few bucks. You think about it, then get back to me.”

“I’ve got a budget, witch.”

“And I’ve got all the time in the world. Do you?”

He rubbed his stubble-shadowed jaw. Tuesday rather liked it when a man tickled his stubble over her skin, as his gaze journeyed down her stomach and lower. And his beard was frosted with a touch of grey in the dark brown, which added a delicious seasoning to his appearance. If the man wasn’t so obstinate he’d actually be sexy.

“A hundred thousand,” he offered. “That’s as high as I can go.”

“Deal.” Tuesday jumped down again and marched past him toward the door. She would have taken the ten grand. “Let’s get out of this dungeon. Did you forget I need to pee?”

* * *

The witch had gone into the private bathroom attached to the office Ethan occupied in headquarters. There were no windows in the small washroom for her to escape through, so he trusted her to shut the door.

Meanwhile, he checked his email. No new orders waiting for retrieval assignment. And he’d sent details regarding his taking this particular mission to the Council. No reply, so far, was good news.

He glanced to the maple-wood bathroom door. He and CJ had only planned things so far. And that plan hadn’t quite come to complete fruition. It would, soon enough. He wasn’t sure how he was going to work with the witch.

She was obstinate. A smart-ass. And he hadn’t expected her to be gorgeous. Utterly beautiful. In a weird, silver Goth sort of way. Behind her defensive, smart mouth and angry rubber band-snapping machinations he felt sure a sensual goddess inhabited the irresistible curves and gemstone blue eyes.

He raked fingers through his hair and shook his head. What was he thinking? He needed to do this right. He was the boss. And he wasn’t about to show weakness or failure to his employees by letting his thoughts stray from the task at hand.

He’d handle the witch with a strong hand and command. He had to stay on guard with her. To set an example for others. But it would prove a challenge, not only because of her odd appeal, but also because it had been so long since he’d actually worked a mission. If she learned that he was questioning his own abilities—and thus had taken the job to prove he wasn’t washed up and was physically capable of handling such a mission—he’d never succeed.

* * *

They headed out, Tuesday following Ethan’s sure gait. It was a confident walk. A sexy walk. After many turns and an elevator ride down four floors, the sight of a door up ahead gave her great glee. Soon.

She pressed her hand over the shackle rope, which she’d been holding snug against the sigil. The rope fibers were hot and smoldering. It was working.

“I don’t live far from here. We’ll walk,” Ethan said.

He’d mentioned they would discuss a plan for capturing the demon. Why they didn’t simply do it in his office was beyond her, but she appreciated the opportunity to get out of the building. And away.

He opened a heavy steel door. Bright daylight filtered in, making Tuesday blink. She had lost all concept of time, and even though her muscles were dragging her downward from exhaustion, the crisp winter air, inhaled deeply, worked to lighten her. And keep her focused. Tugging her coat closed, but keeping one hand inside on the shackling rope, she followed the vampire outside.

They exited into a narrow, cobblestone alleyway. Ethan turned left.

Tuesday turned right and started to run. She made it ten feet, pulling away the rope that had burned apart thanks to the demon sigil, and dropped it behind her. But as her speed increased and she began to pump her arms, her body collided with an invisible wall, slamming her backward to land in the arms of Ethan Pierce.

“I expected as much,” he said. A flash of his bright smile did not give her any mirth. “So did CJ. The rope was merely a distraction until CJ had time to work up a stronger spell.”

“Bastard,” she muttered, and collapsed in his arms.

Chapter 3

The steel door through which they’d exited opened and the dark witch swung out with urgency. He lifted his hand, exposing the glowing spell tattoos that covered his palm. As he approached, he asked Ethan, “You sure about this, man?”

“Nope. But someone’s got to do it. So do your darkest.”

“Oh, no.” Not knowing what was coming, but not stupid, either, Tuesday struggled out of Ethan’s grasp.

The vampire stretched back an arm toward his approaching cohort while he managed to hold her by the coat with his other hand. She wasn’t going to let whatever might happen...happen.

She began to speak a deflection spell, but a slash of Certainly’s hand caused Tuesday’s words to suddenly jumble and drop in the air. He’d deflected her deflection. He was stronger than she’d anticipated.

With his full body, the vampire crushed her against the brick wall. She kicked, unwilling to be contained. Suddenly, she smelled blood. What the—? The dark witch grabbed her wrist and an icy pain seared the center of her palm. A coppery scent filled the air. He was invoking blood magic?

“No!”

Kicking, Tuesday hit Ethan’s gut, but the vampire lunged forward and slapped his hand into hers. Heat from his blood mingled with hers. The dark witch held their hands together and recited a simple incantation that she recognized as a binder.

Tuesday growled, but the exhaustion from what she’d been through since sitting in the bar—back in the United States—had depleted her magic. The blood spell coursed through her system, and she felt it bite at her neck from the inside. Certainly Jones’s dark and masterful magic bound her to the vampire. They would not be able to leave one another’s side, nor would they be able to harm one another.

“This is the only blood you’ll ever get from me,” the vampire said on a low, accusing tone.

With a shout for survival, Tuesday pushed away from her captor with a shove of her free hand to his chest. The dark witch stepped away, allowing her to stumble against the wall. She caught her hands flat on the rough brick behind her, cursed, then watched as the knife wound sealed in a glow of violet on her palm.

“Had to be done,” Certainly commented.

“How close do we have to stay to one another now?” Ethan asked, as if he’d only been given a simple handshake.

“Not sure. Try it out.”

“Try running off,” Ethan said to her. “See how far you get.”

“Try fucking yourself, vampire.”

“Like I said, she’s going to be a challenge,” Certainly said.

“Challenge accepted. I’ll start walking home,” Ethan said. “We’ll see how far I get before you have no choice but to follow.” He slapped a hand into the dark witch’s. “Thanks, CJ.”

Ethan strolled off down the alley. And Tuesday tugged her coat up and adjusted her hair. She pointed an accusing finger at Certainly. “You, Jones, are on my shit list.”

He shrugged. “I honor your power, Tuesday Knightsbridge. You are an old and strong witch. But I can feel your darkness is even greater than mine.”

“Yeah? Warlock’s looking pretty good right about now.” If she grievously harmed another witch the warlock title would be slapped on her. “That would really put you in your place.”

“As well, it would put you in a place you don’t want to stand. Don’t let it overwhelm you, Tuesday. Remember what you once were.”

Really? The man was trying the New Age-y bullshit on her? “You know nothing about me.”

“No, but I saw into your soul when you were looking into mine.” He bowed his head toward her. “I am sorry for the things you have suffered because of what we are.”

Yeah, so witches had been a favorite cat’s-paw over the centuries. She’d survived, and she would continue to so do thanks to her hardened heart.

Suddenly, Tuesday’s body jerked forward. Certainly stepped aside and they both looked down the alley. Ethan stood about fifty yards off. He gave them a thumbs-up.

And when he started walking again, Tuesday was pulled after him.

“Shit list!” she called back to Certainly, who had the decency to place his palms together and bow to her in reverence.

* * *

Ethan chuckled to himself as the witch reluctantly followed him down the street to his place in the eleventh arrondissement. He lived in a third-floor loft close to Père Lachaise cemetery, which boasted an excellent view of Sacré Coeur up on the hill.

He left the front door open behind him, not feeling the need to wait on the witch. She’d stand back just to piss him off, surely. He tossed his keys onto the gray granite kitchen counter and kicked off his shoes, then wandered through the living area. With a few words to the electronic house butler—“Stuart, modify for sun”—the electrochromic shades fixed between the double windowpanes that looked out over the city adjusted to a soft white that would allow in light but not the UV rays that gave him the most caution.

The layout of the loft was open—no walls, save the ones enclosing the bathroom. Strolling through the living room, around a corner and through the bedroom, he went into the bathroom but left the door open behind him. “Stuart, warm water.” Ethan splashed water on his face, then manually twisted off the faucet and took a few deep breaths.

He opened his palm. The cut CJ had given him had already healed. Sharing blood with the witch hadn’t been as horrible as he’d expected. Remnants of fear over the once-poisonous witch blood remained. He’d have to get over it. And fast. If the demon was a blood demon, surely much blood would be spilled in the coming days. The witch’s. And the demon’s. Ethan wasn’t willing to give any more than the few drops he’d provided today.

He liked blood. As sustenance. But he never drank witch’s blood, even since the Great Protection Spell had been broken. It couldn’t harm him now. And there were even some vampires who liked drinking from witches. If you added in sex and a specific spell for bloodsexmagic, the vampire could steal some of that witch’s magic for himself.

He had no desire to own magic. But to taste the witch’s blood? He couldn’t shake the scent of her blood as it had trickled into the air in the alley outside headquarters. It had roused him so much in that moment that he’d used violence and had shoved her roughly to hide his burgeoning desires. He hoped she wouldn’t bleed near him again.

That would prove a challenge.

“Honey, I’m home!”

He shook his head, but no reflection in the mirror showed his exasperation. CJ had warned she would be a struggle. But that was a challenge he welcomed. Now, to work with the witch.

Tuesday had shucked off her coat and now reclined on the leather sofa that sat against a rough brick wall. She’d kicked off her shoes and waggled her bare toes—the nails were painted bright blue—as she stretched out her arms and yawned. The black shirt had a button below her breasts and was open from there down, revealing abs. And much more skin than he wanted to notice right now.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Unlike vampires, we witches do need a little shut-eye now and then. And after all the torments I’ve endured?”

“Why don’t you take twenty minutes to rest? Stuart, close the shades completely.”

As the windows darkened, Tuesday sat up and glanced over a shoulder. “Who the hell is Stuart? A house brownie?”

Ethan chuckled. “A bit similar. That’s the name of the electronic house butler. This place is high-tech. If you need something, Stuart can usually get it.”

“Stuart, book me a flight back to Boston, STAT,” Tuesday said.

As the butler began to confirm, Ethan canceled that request. “And ignore all requests from any voice but my own,” he ordered.

“Of course,” Stuart replied.

“That’s creepy.” Tuesday lay back down and crossed her arms over her chest. “And so not fair.”

“While you rest I’m going to make a few calls. Plan our first move.”

“You don’t have a plan?”

“Of course I do,” he lied. Sitting before the kitchen counter with his back to her, he pushed aside her spangled coat. A pad of paper and a pen waited near the phone. He was all about the high-tech, but he’d never give up the landline. “You want a blanket or something?”

“Fuck you, Richard.” And she turned over on the sofa and snuggled up in a ball.

Again with the Richard? He thought about it a few seconds. Ah. Richard shortened was... All righty then. He shouldn’t expect her to think very highly of him after having one of his retrievers kidnap her and fly her across the ocean. And then forcibly bind her to him.

He may have to find a means to cozy up to her in order to get her to trust him or he’d never get anywhere with her. At the very least, he needed her to want to trust him.

Pulling out his cell phone, he scrolled through the contacts. He knew the person he had to speak to first to learn anything about any demon in Paris.

* * *

Edamite Thrash was a sort of demon overlord with a penchant for niceness. But Ethan didn’t tell anyone that, or Thrash would scratch you with the poison thorns that grew from his knuckles. The man was a corax demon, which meant he could shift into an unkindness of ravens and take to the skies. He also made it his job to oversee the demons of Paris, knowing who was where, and when and why. He kept a loose rein on his species, and enforced punishment only when one of them threatened to expose their kind with their foolish actions.

Ethan knew most of the major players in the paranormal realm who inhabited Paris. That was his job, to know whom he could trust and with whom he had best watch his back. Ed was trustworthy.

The dark feather tattoo on Ed’s neck always drew Ethan’s eye. He wore many sigils tattooed on his skin, and combined with his standard dark business suit and smartly parted and slicked black hair, he looked dangerous yet disturbingly GQ stylish.

He shook the man’s hand, noting he always wore black leather half gloves that exposed his fingers. He needed only cover the thorns on his knuckles to prevent an accident.

“Good to see you, man.” Ed nodded over Ethan’s shoulder. “Who is this pretty?”

Tuesday, who had followed Ethan into the building at a distance, was acting petulant, yet she strolled forward and offered her hand to shake. “Tuesday Knightsbridge.”

Ed clasped her hand. “The witch. I’ve heard about you.”

“You have? From who?”

“My girlfriend, Tamatha Bellerose.”

“Bellerose? Oh, yes, her mother is Petrina. I know that witch.” And the quickness with which Tuesday pulled her hand from the demon’s clasp clued Ethan she probably didn’t have a good relationship with the family. “Just in Paris for a visit,” she added. “Forced, as it is.”

Ed looked to Ethan for explanation.

“Tuesday is helping me to locate a demon. That’s why I wanted to check in with you. See if you’ve any information that may lead us to him.”

Ed leaned against the desk behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which demon?”

“The Beautiful One,” Tuesday said before Ethan could say the name.

“Ah. Gazariel.” Ed winced and rubbed his jaw. “I do know he’s in town. But haven’t a clue where. He hasn’t been making much noise so he’s not on my give-a-fuck radar. Why is she helping? You only require a witch when you need to summon a demon from Beneath or Daemonia.”

“I’m bait,” Tuesday said, tossing out the words at the same time Ethan said, “She’s my lure for the demon.”

“You two don’t get along very well, do you?”

Ethan kept an eye on Tuesday as she walked about the demon’s office, looked over the marble conference table and then wandered to the wall where various artifacts were displayed on small individual shelves.

“We had to take her away from her home to get her to work with us,” Ethan offered.

“Kidnapped me,” Tuesday called over her shoulder as she peered into a glass container that likely held faery dust. The contents sparkled in all colors from the afternoon sun beaming in through the windows.

“Sounds on par for Acquisitions,” Ed said. “So, a lure, eh? Why would Gazariel be interested in that witch?”

“She wears his sigil. Or that is the information we have.”

Ed stood and now he gave Tuesday his full attention. She turned from her curious seeking and splayed her hands. “Yep, I’m the demon’s bitch. I carry his curse. And Einstein here thinks that’ll draw him to me. Idiot.”

“He’ll come to you. We just have to get you close enough he puts up his head and notices,” Ethan said. “Give him a sniff of the witch’s scent.”

“He’s not going to be attracted to the one who wears his curse,” Ed said. “Why would he? I know a bit about The Beautiful One. He put an unwanted curse in her many centuries ago when he had the opportunity. And now he’s done with it. I’m not sure of the nature of the curse, but if the demon wants it gone from him, there’s not a thing in this world that would incline him to set one foot near her now. She’s useless.”

“Hey! I can hear you,” Tuesday called. The blue glass sphere she had touched wobbled and rolled off the shelf. She caught it just before it hit the floor. “Oops. Good save, though, yeah?”

“Don’t touch the breakables,” Ethan said, chastising the overly curious witch. And to Ed he said, “Are you serious? But we need her to open that curse and hold Gazariel so he will submit.”

“Why do you need him to submit?”

“He’s got something that Acquisitions wants.”

Ed lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s a book of angel names and sigils. A muse wrote it. It holds the code for the Final Days.”

“Is that thing back in circulation? I thought the angel Raphael had taken it underwing, so to speak?”

“It made a series of exchanges before Raphael secured it from a vampire intent on populating the world with nephilim. Let’s just say it’s been in so many hands, even the Archives’ records are confused as to where it was last seen before landing in the demon’s hands. But I have good intel that The Beautiful One currently has it.”

“Doesn’t sound like a party.”

“It’s not. The list of angel names, when ordered correctly, holds an ancient coded word, or words, that when spoken, will send all angels plummeting to earth to smother mankind with their multitudes. Their wings will burn human flesh, young and old. Paranormals are not exempt, either. The earth will become an ashy cemetery of the mortal, the paranormal and the divine.”

“Whew!” Ed ran a gloved hand through his slick hair. “That’s something you want to stop. But your challenge will be getting the demon to come to you, without knowing you’ve got the witch, and then surprising him with her at just the right moment.”

Ethan’s temples had begun to pulse. He hadn’t expected this particular complication. If he would have known before the demon didn’t want anything to do with the witch, he wouldn’t have bound himself to her until after they’d secured Gazariel. Of course, he needed Tuesday to bring the demon to him. This was a mess. Had she known as much?

Her self-satisfied grin answered that one for him.

“Keep her out of sight until you need her,” Ed suggested.

“Too late. I bound myself to her to keep her close and protect myself from any retaliatory magic.”

“Then you’ve got a problem, Pierce.”

No need to state that one out loud. Tuesday’s soft tsking sounds riled him and Ethan fisted his hands. Yet when he saw her smile beam at sight of his anger, he relented the knuckle-whitening clutch. The witch would not get under his skin. He was smarter than this. And he didn’t need to snap a rubber band to remind him of that.

He turned to Ed. “Can you help by telling me where Gazariel might be?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“But you keep tabs on all the demons—how can you know he’s in the city and not have a location on him?”

“It’s a feeling, Pierce, not an exact science or even a map. Believe me, I would help you if I could. The Beautiful One is from Beneath, so you might start at l’Enfer.”

The Devil Himself’s nightclub. It was frequented by demons, vamps, werewolves and most any sort looking for dark and devious indulgences. Just the place Ethan wanted to visit. Not.

“Hey, how much you want for this?” Tuesday waggled a pearlescent alicorn she’d found on a shelf.

Ed shrugged. “You can take it.”

“What? Are you serious?” The witch actually tittered with glee. “You do know how valuable this is?”

“It’s...” Ed winced. “I should have never obtained that thing. It was taken from innocence. It’s not something I have a right to own. I’ve been meaning to get rid of it for a while now. You’d be doing me a favor by taking it.”

“Nice!” Tuesday stabbed the air with the thing. “I can so use this.”

Ethan could but shake his head and wish the day would get better.

“I guess you’ll be clubbing then?” Ed offered as he extended his hand to shake.

“Sounds like it.” Ethan thanked the man and started out of the room, knowing Tuesday would have to follow. Sooner or later.

As he got on the elevator, the witch entered, twirling the alicorn gaily. “I got a prize,” she teased.

“What the hell can you do with that thing?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. By the way, I’m going to need some magical supplies. You whisked me away from home and cauldron. I need certain items to work magic, put up wards and generally survive.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged and tapped the alicorn against her jaw. “This is a start. There’s got to be magic shops in the city. And you’ll have to pay, sweetie, since my kidnapper decided against bringing along my purse. And I’ll be needing some clothes as well. Can’t go clubbing looking like this, can I?”

“You like fine. All black and perfectly witchy? You’ll fit right in at l’Enfer.” Ethan checked his watch. It was around six in the evening. A few more hours before the club opened.

“Can a chick get pizza in this town?”

Rolling his eyes, he strolled out as the elevator doors opened. The witch had no taste whatsoever.

Chapter 4

At the plain black metal doors to the club l’Enfer, they stopped before the bouncer with red eyes. A sign over his high left shoulder stated, in Latin, what basically translated as “no funny stuff” and “you take your own chances entering.” Tuesday boldly met the bouncer’s gaze and focused her intent toward him. The demon looked down, chastised by her audacity. Served him right. He was young and needed to learn to show respect for his elders.

Blowing him a kiss laced with pizza sauce and some kind of cheese that had not been mozzarella—the French really liked their weird cheeses—she then glided down the dark hallway. The music thudded in her heart and veins. Not worrying whether Ethan gained access, she picked up the beat and danced as she walked.

She sensed the brooding vampire was behind her, and felt his hand go to her hip, as if to guide her through the darkness, but he quickly removed it. Tuesday smiled. Had he forgotten himself for a moment? Thought of her as an actual desirable female he might get close to? She could work with that.

Much as she had developed a liking for clubbing over the last several decades, Tuesday preferred less crowded venues, and with more upbeat tunes. L’Enfer had not invested any expense in color. Everything was black, with hematite and silver metallic bits and trim here and there. The lighting was red, and flashed across the inhabitants and dancers, who also wore mostly black.

Tuesday was dressed for the part, right down to her matte black nail polish and eye shadow. Yet she felt naked without some lip gloss; a deep violet would be perfect for this Gothic milieu. As it was, she felt virtually exposed without any magical accoutrements to hand, and bound to a freaking vampire. Yet she wasn’t powerless. Her simple mastery over the bouncer had proven that. And she did have the alicorn stuck in her waistband. She felt it tremble. This was not a place for such a thing. The demon hadn’t wanted to possess innocence? Interesting.

She wouldn’t test the alicorn’s power here. The place was owned by the Devil Himself, and the sign on the door had clearly stated no funny stuff. The bouncer should have frisked her for weapons. Idiot.

On the other hand, a place like this probably thrived on the illicit use of weapons and how much damage could be done before a person was kicked out. If that would even happen. Again, the sign mentioned taking one’s own chances.

“You see him?” Ethan shouted next to her ear.

Tuesday leaned away from him. “I can hear well enough over the noise, vampire. And I just got here. Let me look around, will you? You want to dance?”

“I’m not a dancer. And I’m on a job.”

“Right, all work and no play. Should I call you Jack?”

“Just keep your mind on business.”

“Can I at least have a drink? We should try to blend in. Look like we’re here to party and not jack up some asshole demon, yeah?”

Ethan sighed then reluctantly nodded. “What do you want?”

“Anything that doesn’t contain a live entity. I suspect that’s on the menu here. And I prefer vodka.”

“Live entities,” he muttered. With a frown, he headed toward the long, black quartz bar that was edged with a cut-in of red crystals that seemed to glow like LEDs.

Tuesday allowed her body to inhale the beat. Despite the fact this club was owned by the rather dour Dark Prince, the music wasn’t too terribly dirge-like. The Goth singer with a string of spikes embedded down the sides of each bare arm sang about his friends being heathens and suggested she should take it slow. All righty, then.

Tuesday swayed to the beat as a crimson-haired faery with violet eyes matched her with a smile and a shimmy. If she was going to be forced to work for some rogue organization to capture a pompous, yet also vicious demon she had no wish to ever see again, at the very least, she could enjoy herself. Lifting her arms, she spun onto the dance floor.

Below her, the Plexiglas floor flashed red and black and then segued into flames. It was a realistic effect, and she almost fancied to feel the heat. A brush of fur tickled her right hand, and with a spin she eyed the tattooed back of a thin person who moved a little too jerkily not to be demon.

A guitar solo screamed and coaxed the crowd to pump their fists and jump in a pounding stomp of fraternity to whatever dark gods were the current rage. Tuesday preferred Loki. The one portrayed in the movies by the handsome dark-haired actor, most specifically. As she spun, arms swaying above her head and hips shifting, she spied Ethan standing at the edge of the dance floor, holding a red glowing drink. His grim look spoke much louder than the music.

“Spoilsport.” She wandered over and took the drink, then tilted back a healthy swallow. Instead of the expected burn, she felt a distinct icy grab at the back of her throat, which then melted into a blaze of heat down her esophagus. And it tasted of cinnamon and chocolate. “Whew! That is some good stuff.”

“I thought it would be the drink for you. It’s called The Devil’s Bitch.”

“Oh, Ethan, you can hate me all you need to.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “I’m not going to crack under all that loathing. You know your emotions only reflect back onto you? Also makes it easy for a witch to use against you. That is, if the witch could drop some magic on your vampire ass. Ditch the frowny face and let’s agree to disagree, and then get on with things, shall we?”

“So you’ve decided to stop pouting and work with me?”

Yeah, she was being as much of a problem child as he was. And if she didn’t get to work now, she’d never be free of the man and his brooding grey eyes. And could his teeth be any whiter? She wanted to see his fangs. To touch them and feel them pierce her neck...but no. She would not bone up this task by falling all puppy-eyed over the vamp. She was better than that. Because she had no choice.

“We’re partners.” She held out a hand and he shook it, holding it for a few seconds longer than was proper. She could feel his heartbeats in that hold, and they were sure and confident. Powerful. And, yes, controlling. The man would not relent. “Good then. I’ll take a look around. You probably wouldn’t recognize the demon if he was choking you, so you just...”

His eyes took in their surroundings. He put off a very militant, I’m-ready vibe. “I’ll stay close to you.”

“Sure, keep close. I’ll protect the big bad vampire from a suggestive side glance or a dance-off. Ha!”

She strolled off into the clove-scented shadows that edged the dance floor, knowing the man would follow. It wasn’t as if she could get any farther away from him than fifty yards. Nothing like having a puppy dog on her tail. Of course, she liked puppies. Had once owned one, until the local troll had stolen it and—She tried never to imagine what had become of her sweet Nugget after that. Long time ago. Always avoid trolls, had been the lesson.

Noting every face she passed, Tuesday pulled on her Sherlock cloak. It was easy to tell the demons, as their eyes were generally red, although some demon-possessed humans’ eyes gave off a dull blue glow. Most natural demons who did not require a human meat suit could disguise their irises, but when out at the club they apparently let their freak flags fly. Red irises everywhere!

Thinking of freaks...

She strolled toward a tall sliver of a demon who looked like a walking skeleton, yet he wore thin, clear muscle over those bones. A wraith? They were usually dangerous and she was surprised one would put himself in a social situation. But when the creature turned to cast her a violet gaze she realized it was faery. And faeries could be even more vicious than demons.

Propping her palm over the alicorn at her waist, Tuesday detoured from her approach, wisely dismissing the oddity. With a flick of her fingers she could reduce them all to gibbering sycophants. But she would not because she didn’t want to call attention to herself.

Finishing off the drink, which still cooled then burned, she set the empty goblet on a table and eyed the flashing red-and-silver staircase leading up to the balcony. She skipped up the steps, edging past a couple who made out carefully, for the woman’s spiked bra looked quite deadly. Blood tinted the air. Hmm... Perhaps the bra served the exact purpose its wearer desired.

Tuesday glanced back to see Ethan following and noticed his expression when he neared the couple. He winced and shook his head. The man was discerning. Points for him.

Stepping up into the dark and smoky balcony, Tuesday was immediately surrounded by three tall men, all of them demons. The one before her flashed a silver-toothed grin, punctuated by curved fangs, and his nostrils flared and put out little wisps of black smoke. It wasn’t cigarettes or weed producing the smoke, but rather the thickness of demons here above the crowd. “A tasty witch has dared to broach our private balcony?”

“I wasn’t aware it was private.” She lifted her hand, prepared to repel the demon, when suddenly Ethan gripped her wrist and eased himself around to stand before her.

“She didn’t know, gentlemen,” he offered. “Demons only up here?”

“You got it, vampire. But if she wants to stay—” Silver Tooth let his gaze creep over Tuesday’s skin “—we want to play.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tuesday reached around Ethan with her free hand and he turned to clasp both her wrists. “Don’t restrain me before them,” she said. “I can stand up for myself.”

“Hear that, vampire? She can take care of herself. Why don’t you leave the tasty little witch to us?”

Now Tuesday did feel a shiver of caution, and the touch of someone’s fingers from behind, sliding across her ass, made her jump. Right against Ethan’s arm, which slid across her shoulder and directed her back toward the stairs.

“We’re leaving,” he said more to her than the randy demons. “But before we do...” He cocked a look over his shoulder at the silver-toothed leader. “Any of you familiar with Gazariel?”

“He means The Beautiful One,” Tuesday quickly amended. It was not cool to call demons by their names, especially around others.

“Get that witch out of here,” Silver Tooth said.

“But the demon I’m looking for—” Ethan began.

“No pretty demons in this club, vampire. And if you don’t take your pet witch and leave we’ll make sure no one ever calls her pretty, either.”

Ethan clasped Tuesday’s hand and led her down the stairs. The couple was still making out. Blood beaded in various spots on the man’s chest and neck. Ethan quickened their pace.

When they landed on the main floor, he directed her toward a wall, where a private moment could be found behind it, as it was set off from the frenzy of dancers.

“I had no idea that was a demons-only area,” she said. “But you don’t score points for rescuing me. I was fine.”

“I know that. But no funny stuff, remember? And I like to take care of my assets. Make sure they survive the length of the job.”

“I’m an asset to you? I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. I’m guessing not especially good.”

“You are valuable. What’s so bad about that?”

“My value, as determined by what I can do for you, is a very bad thing. Any man who tries to put a—” she made air quotes “—‘value’ on a woman is not a man at all.”

Feminism was her right, and she would never stop to point out the patriarchy’s misguided beliefs and lacking empathy for those who were their equals. She strode off toward the front hallway, where they had entered. “He’s not here. Let’s blow this joint.”

Once outside on the street, she walked swiftly away from the nondescript doors, but abruptly hit an invisible wall and couldn’t press onward. Curse that vampire! She cast a glance over her shoulder. Ethan stood a good distance away, unmoving, giving her a sly wave.

“Such a Richard,” she muttered. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“I’m going this way.” He pointed over his shoulder, then turned and walked off.

And the pull of the binding dragged Tuesday along after him.

* * *

“It was a stupid thing to do anyway,” Tuesday muttered as she followed Ethan down the quiet, dark Parisian street toward wherever he was headed. She hadn’t a choice in the matter. “Going to that club? Why would The Beautiful One hang out at that depressing place? Do you even know who you’re after? That demon likes to shine. To see and be seen. He’s vain and all about pleasure and self-gratification. He thrives on attention. Adoration. Love. He’s not for darkness and murk. That’s why he pawned off his curse on me.”

Ethan cast a glance over his shoulder at her, then resumed his pace.

“What kind of sorry adventuring detective vampire are you?” she called. “Don’t you know how to do this stuff? I mean, let’s go to the least likely place the dude is going to be and feed the witch to the demons, why don’t we?”

She smirked to think about getting hit on by those nasty demons. The one with the silver teeth had to have doused himself in body spray for the young and bepimpled. Ugh. And then Ethan had felt the need to intervene. Like some kind of rescuing hero? She could have taken care of herself. But how often did a man step in to try and help her? So rarely, she couldn’t think back that far.

“I’m hungry!” she announced in frustration. “That pizza was terrible. Who sells pizza slices out of a freezer? That’s like 7-Eleven stuff. So wrong. I thought Paris was classier? Let’s get something to eat. Do you have to walk so fast? It’s not as if we’re going to find the demon now. I’d guess he’s more of a day kind of demon. All the better to allow others to admire his beaming gorgeousness. Are you even listening to me, Pierce? Bueller?”

With that, the vampire swung round, marched up to her, bracketed her face with his hands and...

...kissed her.

For no reason. And with no grace. He planted a firm, seconds-long kiss on her mouth. And for those few seconds Tuesday’s heart thundered and a tickle-thrill shimmied up the back of her neck. She didn’t mind the kiss. In fact, it proved a scintillating connection. The vibrations between them shivered haphazardly, but then quickly started to harmonize. To actually blend—as if they were meant to come together. How weird was that?

But the kiss ended as quickly as it had landed on her mouth. And she hadn’t time to determine why it had felt so right.

Ethan stepped back, hands splaying outward. With a sexy wink, he then said, “I knew that would work.”

Tuesday touched her lips, stunned that he’d taken her by surprise, but even more stunned that she wasn’t upset about the attack kiss.

“I figured a kiss would get you to shut up,” he said. Turning, he marched onward.

Really? He’d employed the kiss to make her stop talking? Of all the nerve! She was not one of his victims he could subdue with persuasion or a plunge of fang into vein. And so what if she had been talking? It wasn’t as if he’d shown an eagerness to converse with her. She was alone in a strange, foreign city, being led around by a bossy vampire who held her captive with a magical bond. Damn right she was going to chatter away nervously when the mood struck!

On the other hand, she wasn’t about to let some cocky vampire feel he had gotten the upper hand with her.

Tuesday raced up behind Ethan. “You want to use kisses as weapons?” She shoved him and he spun to face her with a questioning gape. “One thing you need to know about me—I’m always cocked and loaded.”

Grabbing his coat lapel, she pulled him in and planted a kiss on his mouth. This one was as unwarranted and desperately seeking as his had been. The man stumbled backward and his shoulders hit a brick wall, and it gave her the opportunity to move in and deepen the kiss.

His hand caught at the base of her spine under her coat, and he pressed her closer to his hard abs and hugged hip-to-hip. And Tuesday forgot that she was angry and let the lust and want rise and play out.

The man’s mouth was incredible. His lips were warm and firm, and when their tongues danced she couldn’t imagine doing such a tango with anyone else. And she had tangoed with many in her lifetime. Cinnamon mingled with his clean taste, brewing a cocktail more heady than any weird concoction served in a demonic dance club.

But she was kissing him to make a point. And she’d hate to let him think she actually wanted this kiss. She did not. Mostly. Yes, she did!

But that was not how she intended to play her hand.

Shoving away from him, Tuesday swept her hair over her shoulder and assumed a cocky stance. “I won that one, vampire.”

If a smirk could get any sexier, she didn’t know. A few fine wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes, and she even noticed glints of gray strands silvering the hair at his temples. So sexy. Urm, in a completely uninteresting way, of course.

“Sounds fine by me,” Ethan said. “You can have the win, partner.”

“Right. Partner.” She wrinkled her nose at that one. She had suggested they could be partners, hadn’t she? “About that food?”

“Just up the street, there’s a cheesy little bar that might still be open. It’s owned by a couple of expats. They serve American food.”

Intrigued beyond what she wanted to convey, Tuesday muttered, “Lead the way.”

An hour later, Tuesday was full from pulled-pork tacos with pickled jalapeños, and a fruity drink that had a lot of alcohol and even more sugar in it. She would not even require magic to fly now. And Ethan had watched her gobble the food with little more than that constant smirk and a gleam in his eyes.

They were pretty gray eyes, and added a touch of niceness to his usual dour expression. While he was a handsome man, she could tell he dared not show too much. He had been honed and hardened over the centuries. Much as she had been. And she well knew it was never wise to let life play out on her face for others to interpret and use to their advantage.

“How long have you been walking this seriously whacked planet?” she asked as she noisily sucked the last bits of the red slushy drink through the straw. She wasn’t drunk, but she was feeling fine.

“Conversation now?”

“Yes. I’m finished stuffing my face. I’m feeling relaxed for the first time since my captivity—” She caught his scoff. “I was in a freakin’ cage.”

“Fine. I’m sorry, okay? It had to be done. But now you’re out, so get over it.”

It took a snap of the rubber band not to flip him off.

“What did you ask?” he said. “How old am I?” He lifted his feet and propped them on a nearby wicker chair, leaning back against the wall in the stuffy bar that had announced last call ten minutes after they’d arrived. “I was born in...the 1500s.”

“Can’t remember the exact year?”

He shrugged. “Early part of the century. We weren’t known for marking our birth dates back then.”

“Yeah. I was born in the 1640s, give or take a few years. Or decades. I remember at the time it was the great Puritan migration. They sailed to the New World by boatloads from England. All kinds of religious rabble, preaching and condemning. Fur traders and fishers, too. I dated a fisherman once. He smelled. So! That makes you the old man and me the sexy young thang.”

“Which should grant me wisdom and you...?”

Tuesday shimmied confidently on the chair. “A chick with a whole lot of experience on every single thing you can imagine.”

“It is interesting walking through the ages, isn’t it?”

“It is.” She teased a finger around the rim of her glass. “You ever get tired of it?”

“Not yet. Immortality suits me.”

“Save for the part about drinking all that blood?”

“Coming from a witch who must have consumed how many vampire hearts to keep her immortality over the centuries?”

“Five,” she said proudly. In order to maintain immortality, a witch had to consume a beating vampire heart once a century. Split the rib cage. Reach in. Feast. And try not to wretch. “Each one of those bastards deserved to die, too.”

“And what qualifies as deserving in your book?”

“Assholes. Murderers. And general idiots.”

Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “I shall endeavor not to be an asshole or an idiot. At least, not too often.”

Tuesday yawned. “You’ve had a pitiful showing in the trying department. But I won’t hold that against you.”

“I thought you intended to hold everything that made you uncomfortable against me?”

“Pretty much. But you’re lucky I’m tired now. I only got about two winks on your couch. Can we go back to your place? I need to seriously crash and recharge. If I can get some good sleep then I’ll be able to think clearly and maybe even stir up a demon-tracking spell.”

“Then here’s to a well-rested witch.”

* * *

The witch nodded off within five minutes. Ethan had offered her his bed. It was around the corner in the loft. None of the rooms had separating walls, save bathroom, and he could see the end of the bed from the kitchen. The city lights beamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the bedroom area. He’d bought this place for those windows. The view was incredible. He’d wanted to point out Sacré Coeur to her, but she had literally dropped onto the bed and rolled into a snore.

Now, he wondered what their next move should be. And if more kisses would be required to make her comply with his wishes. She hadn’t needed provoking to kiss him back after he’d initially kissed her. A retaliatory kiss? Bring them on.

And in his next thought, he frowned. He’d kissed a witch. And...he’d liked it.

Chapter 5

A shower had never felt more welcome. Tuesday dried off in the steamy room. The floor and walls were grey marble that was deeply streaked with clear quartz. Gorgeous stonework. And she could feel some of the earth’s energies remaining in the stone when she pressed a palm to it, though they were weak. The manufacturing process tended to rape natural stone of most of its essence, but if she took her time, and had the inclination, she could restore its vital energy with an earthing spell.

It was a hell of a lot more than Stuart could do, that was for sure.

“Take that, Stuart.”

It was weird to think that an inanimate object was listening in, all the time, waiting for a cue to turn on some function in the apartment. Electronic witchcraft was not her thing. But apparently Ethan was one of those spoiled rich bachelors who could afford life’s luxuries. But he didn’t seem to flaunt it, with million-dollar wristwatches or fancy suits, so he earned credit for that.

The bathroom was attached to the bedroom, which was open to the rest of the loft. A nice setup, and she suspected the view out the picture window was awesome, were the shades not blocking the bright sunlight now. She hadn’t realized how dead tired she had been last night. Her face had hit the pillow. Snores had commenced.

Now she didn’t hear Ethan puttering about in the kitchen, but then, why should she? The guy was a vampire. He didn’t eat food. But she certainly hoped he played the charming host and either ordered in or found something for her to nosh on.

Fingering her black silk shirt, which revealed a nicely toned tummy, she sighed. She’d worn it for two days straight and a long flight across the Atlantic Ocean. She needed clean things to wear. And at the very least, some basic magical accoutrements.

Combing out her hair with Ethan’s comb, she then snapped her fingers and whispered, “Dry,” and a whoosh of air fluffed up and through the wet strands, instantly drying them. Sometimes Latin wasn’t necessary to kick in the magic. Keep it Simple, Stupid was a motto she followed with her spellcraft. She wove her thick hair into a loose side plait and left some in the back hanging free.

Without makeup or a toothbrush she felt out of her element. Not quite in top form. She scanned the insides of the medicine cabinet and spied the wood-handled toothbrush. Nah. She wasn’t going to use a vampire’s toothbrush. She squirted a blob of toothpaste on her finger and scrubbed the old-fashioned way. Centuries ago, this had been her only option to dental health. That, or use a bit of twig or the corner of some rough suede. It worked. But her kingdom for a dash of dark eye shadow and lip gloss.

“Ugh. Nature witch,” she muttered to her reflection. “I should concoct a makeup spell.” She tapped her fingernails against the mirror, thinking it odd that a vampire even had one in his home. “Yeah, I’ll worry about the lacking glamour later. I’ve got bigger problems to solve.”

Putting the obsidian crystal around her neck, she held it a few moments. Grounding herself. Finding a calm tone for her personal vibration.

Now ready to face whatever adventure the vampire with the attack kisses had in mind for her, she wandered out into the living area. Seated on the leather sofa, Ethan was focused on an iPad, but he nodded over his shoulder and said, “Ran down to the creperie an hour ago when you were still sleeping. Got you some croissants and pain au chocolat. Fresh juice, too.”

Points for the vampire. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

“You mean Stuart is incapable of such errands? Not sure you got your money’s worth with that guy,” she said gaily.

Sliding onto a bar stool and tearing into the paper bag, Tuesday bit into a still-warm pastry loaded with gooey chocolate. Crisp, thin layers of pastry engulfing sweet, dark chocolate? By the seven sacred witches, it was amazing.

“What are the plans for today?” she asked around chews.

“Thought you could summon the demon. Witches can do that, right?”

“Right, but I can’t summon a demon who has marked me. Just doesn’t work that way. I can track him, perhaps even locate him, but he’s not going to come when I call like a little bitch.”

Ethan’s sigh echoed across the room. “I thought you’d be more useful.”

“Way to boost a chick’s confidence. Besides, Edamite Thrash confirmed The Beautiful One wasn’t going to come when I call. So get over it, will you? I know what is first on today’s list of adventures.”

“What’s that?”

“Shopping! I can’t wander around in this same getup. I mean, I can work it, but I seriously prefer clean clothes. And I need some lip gloss and eye liner. I feel naked without the black stuff.”

“Is that going to help you to locate the demon?”

“It will.” She turned and fluttered her lashes at him. “Don’t you know a woman’s power is all in how she feels about herself? When I look good, I do my best.”

“I think you look great.”

“You’re a guy. Guys always say dismissive things like that.”

He shook his head and set aside the iPad. “Shopping it is. And then?”

“And then, I also need to pick up some spell supplies. Outfit myself with a makeshift hex-and-spell armory. Then I should be able to set up a grid to map the city of demons. And hopefully, by incorporating the sigil’s power, The Beautiful One will stand out on that map.”

“Hopefully? I’m going to need more than that. I require assurance.”

Tuesday shrugged and bit off another piece of chocolaty pastry. “You get hope from me for now, vamp. Say, do you mind that I used your comb?”

“As long as you didn’t use my toothbrush, I don’t care.”

“What if I did use your toothbrush?”

“We’re stopping at a pharmacy, first thing.”

* * *

The witch could work the tight black jeans and floaty flowered shirt. Her vibe was definitely bohemian, with her thick white hair braided down one side and the furred spangled coat topping it all off. In the pharmacy, she tore open the makeup packaging and performed a quick makeover on herself, fluttering her newly blackened lashes at him and pursing her deep violet lips.

Ethan nodded approval because the sooner she served her personal needs, the quicker he could be done with this stupid stuff and get on to the important work. But he had to admit the deep color she wore on her lips stirred his desires. The violet lipstick emphasized her plump, heart-shaped mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes from them. They might taste like sweet grapes warmed under the Tuscan sun.

Yikes. Ethan checked himself. What was he thinking? He was not attracted to a witch. Yes, he was. And what the fuck was that about?

“Come on!” Tuesday skipped ahead, obviously on some kind of spending high.

Ethan kept his credit card handy. Whatever made the witch happy.

Now, she had managed to find a dusty candle shop that opened to a private room in the back that was filled with all the witchy accoutrements he imagined she’d ever need. And while he suspected the shop owner was one of those kitchen witches who spoke incantations from books she’d bought on the internet and thought she was casting spells, she wasn’t a real born witch like Tuesday Knightsbridge. And if she knew that the woman buying smudge sticks and candles from her really did possess natural magic, she would be in awe.

Tuesday popped her head out from the back room with a bag full of goodies and winked at Ethan as she wandered by. “Homeward! Stuart waits for us!”

At the very least, he’d gotten a new toothbrush.

Back at his place, Tuesday dropped her shopping booty on the floor by the sofa, tossed her coat on the chair and beelined to the bathroom while he picked up the mess.

Setting her heeled boots on the rug by the door, he then placed the bags neatly on the kitchen counter. He liked a clean, organized home. Which was probably why his few attempts at living with women over the years had failed. Also, the lack of privacy was jarring. Sharing a home with another person was hard work. And since he could have a relationship without moving in with the woman, he chose to stick with what worked.

Although a few relationships here and there, over the centuries, had worked for him. Most had been so long ago he’d forgotten what it felt like or how it had lasted. That wasn’t exactly true. A man never forgot the women who had passed through his life. And the current one was moving through like a hurricane intent on settling and spinning about for a while.

“Stuart, be sure to send the vacuum through when next I leave.”

The home butler confirmed with a blip on the wall panel and a solid green light. Ethan had programmed it not to return voice reply unless necessary. It wasn’t like he needed to talk to the artificial intelligence to make conversation. He used it merely as the maid he liked to have available at all hours of the day, yet didn’t want a human stumbling around in his life discovering that he didn’t need to sleep and eat. And he’d bitten a maid once. Early nineteenth century? It was best not to drink from the help.

Tuesday returned, flipping her hair over a shoulder, and stretched out on the sofa. “Where’s my stuff?”

“On the kitchen counter. You can’t leave a trail of bread crumbs wherever you walk.”

“I don’t need to. We’re attached at the hip. If you should lose sight of me, you’ll find me soon enough. Bring me my bags.”

“Get them yourself.” He settled onto the big leather chair with the wide wooden arms. The wood was worn from decades of use and connection to life. And more than a few frenzied bang sessions. “Dazzle me with your witchy magic and this demon map you said you could conjure.”

“I don’t dazzle on command.” She wandered over to the counter and pulled out things from the bags.

“Then how do I get you to dazzle me?” Ethan asked. “Is there a magic word?”

“Please seems to work most of the time.”

He pressed his fingers to his forehead. He should have left the witch in the cage.

On the other hand, she couldn’t hex him and he did need help with this case. He had absolutely no clue how to lure in the demon otherwise, so he would take her sassy mouth and... Well, he’d kiss her again if need be. Heh. That kiss had set her off-kilter.

But the return kiss had surprised him. And then he’d accepted it for the retaliation it had been. Now a kiss from those grape-stained lips would give him what he wanted from her. Another taste. A teasing test of his abilities to remain completely unaffected by her charms and attraction.

She had some. Somewhere in that scatter of spangles, sass and black eye shadow.

“Black salt and raven’s ash.” She waggled between them two vials of a dark substance that she’d purchased from the candle shop. “This will do the trick.”

She wandered over and pushed the narrow coffee table up against the sofa. The wide dark-stained plank flooring was the original from when the building had once been a millinery factory. Ethan liked it because he’d known a man who had worked here in the 1920s. He’d taken immense pride in the cut of a woman’s hat, or even the specific froth of a silk flower adorning a sweeping brim. He’d also asked Ethan for vampirism after learning that the mercury used to cure the felt for his creations was driving him insane. Ethan had convinced him an insane vampire would be worse than a human prematurely dead from bleeding out.

In all his centuries, Ethan had never created another vampire. And he didn’t intend to do so anytime soon. It was too much power to simply give away as if a holiday gift. And besides, he was blood-born, not a created vampire. His breed were superior to those who had been transformed in a back alley or at a lover’s lusty request. And he wasn’t about to tarnish the line. If he ever desired to procreate, he would have a child, who, depending on its mother’s lineage and paranormal species, would very likely be born vampire. He preferred to mate with another vampire, but he wasn’t rigid in that stance. Love was actually his key requirement to a happy, lasting relationship.

But love was fickle and...well, he’d take it if it came his way, but he wasn’t on a quest to track it down.

Ethan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watched as Tuesday sprinkled black salt in a pattern before her on the floor. He was curious about witchcraft, and knew it was powerful. No man should mess with a witch. But he was feeling cocky with the protective bind against her. So long as it lasted until they found the demon.

Leaning over the scattered salt, which designed a pentagram inside a circle, Tuesday closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. She chanted words that Ethan would never try to decipher. Witch words. Dangerous words. Yet he could feel them forming sentences in his veins, warning that she could take him out if he dropped his guard.

With a snap of her fingers, the salt suddenly illuminated and jittered on the floor, moving, ordering and aligning. The tiny grains jumped and crackled. The scent of salt tinged the air. And when it settled and continued to glow, Tuesday sat back on her heels, hands propped on each thigh.

“A map of Paris,” she said with a gesture over the salt. “What do you think?”

Ethan leaned over to inspect the map. It included both the right and left bank, and the Seine and the main island. It even showed faint demarcations for the twenty arrondissements. “You’ve dazzled me, witch. Now where are all the demons? Or just the one in particular?”

“That requires more intense chanting. And an elemental callout. You stay there. Don’t move, because I don’t want the bond between us to tug me out of concentration. Deal?”

“I am a captive audience.”

She looked at him a moment, and he couldn’t decide if she thought she was peering into an idiot’s eyes or, in fact, seeing beyond his irises and into his very soul. He’d witnessed it when she’d peered into Certainly Jones’s soul. Was it a skill they could only perform on other witches? Or need he worry, too?

“What?” he finally asked.

“There’s something about you, Ethan Pierce. Something that keeps me from stabbing you through the heart with this athame.” She twirled the knife she’d bought from the store. The hilt looked to be carved from opal. That was why the bill had registered in the hundreds of euros. “I’m not sure what that is, though, so I’m going to keep the blade close.”

“Whatever works for you. You couldn’t harm me if you tried.”

“Probably not. But you are racking up the points against you for when the bond is lifted. Know that.”

“I’m not afraid of a witch.”

Her head tilted and her gaze narrowed as she said simply, “You should be.”

And Ethan realized she was right. But he wouldn’t show his anxiety.

Casting her focus over the salt map, she moved up on her knees, spread out her arms and began to chant.

* * *

Tuesday felt the presence of every demon inhabiting the city prick at her skin. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t painful, either. Rather a sort of vehement and inner knowing. The elemental spell had been successful. She opened her eyes and looked over the map.

Ethan kneeled on the opposite side of the map and scanned the results as well. “What are all the glowing red salt crystals?”

“Demons,” she said.

“There’s so many. Thousands.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. But how is this going to help our search?”

“Hold your horses, big boy. The real magic comes next.”

Tugging loose the ribbon ties at the bodice of her new shirt, Tuesday tossed the obsidian crystal over her shoulder and then pressed her fingers against the sigil between her breasts. She lowered her other hand over the map, moving methodically as she silently thought Gazariel’s name. The sigil warmed and she could feel the tendrils of it creep through her chest and toward her extremities. It noticed her.

And that was not a good thing.

Wanting to abruptly end the spell, she suddenly noted the violet glow at one edge of the map. “There! Where is that?”

Ethan turned his head to assess the map. “Looks like the Bois de Boulogne. A big, forested park at the edge of the city. Is that purple spot The Beautiful One?”

“It is. And now I’m cutting the connection before he catches on.”

“Wait!”

Tuesday pulled her fingers from the sigil. The violet light snuffed out.

“If you would have held on longer, I could have marked the exact location,” Ethan protested. “That would have made our job easier. Are you helping me or hindering me, witch?”

“What do you think I’m doing? You think I enjoy being your captive? I want this over as quickly as possible. But I will not call the demon directly to me. He could manifest within me. And then what will you do?”

“That can happen?”

“It’s likely. But remember what Edamite said. If he’s smart he’s not going to come near me. And he is.”

“Sorry. I, uh... I don’t intend to place you in harm’s way. I just want to utilize your expertise.”

“And this, eh?” She tapped the sigil.

“Can I take a look at that?”

She studied his curious gaze. He wasn’t aware that a childlike wonder could overtake his normally serious expression. Nor could he be aware how much that relaxation of his outer shield attracted her. Because it made him everything he probably didn’t want to be—soft, kind, accepting.

Tuesday nodded her consent.

Ethan reached over and pressed two fingers to the sigil. It was an intimate touch and her skin warmed. Her breasts hugged his knuckles. He flicked his wondrous gaze onto hers.

“I can feel your fear,” he said. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I will protect you.”

Tuesday wrapped her fingers about his wrist, holding him there at her breast. “There’s nothing a vampire can do to protect me that I can’t already do myself. You’re going to have to make a better plea for my continuing to work with you than that.”

“All right. How about this?”

And with that, he slid over the salt map, smearing the left bank of Paris, and cupped the back of her head as he pulled her in for another sudden kiss.

His mouth warmed against hers and demanded she not ignore him. That she allow him to protect her. And at the same time, it teased her to submit in a way she generally didn’t care to with a man. It was the surprise of their connection, their easy manner of locking lips, that excited her, and made her want to not break it.

On her knees, Tuesday scooched closer. He slipped one hand down her hair and clasped his fingers into it, easing her forward, into his arms. Into his interesting acceptance. She’d thought he didn’t like witches. So why was he kissing her?

Did it matter? Not in this moment. She wanted to taste every sensual, hot bit of him. Inhale his cool, fresh-air scent, and every breath that he greedily gave and took from her. Moaning into his mouth, she grabbed at his shirt and straddled his legs with hers. They kneeled there on the scattered remains of the city map, a strange fusion of opposites who couldn’t resist the pull to experience one another.

And when he put his hand again on the sigil, she moved his fingers to cup her breast. She hugged up against him, giving him permission to touch her, wanting to own the vampire’s desire... To control him as he sought to control her.

Ethan broke the kiss and pulled his hand abruptly from her skin. “Uh...”

Appearing befuddled, he probably wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her. And had manhandled her boob. So she wouldn’t let him consider it too long. Because if she had to use normal skills instead of magic to control him, it was best to keep him unsure and wondering.

“Feel like a walk in the park?” she asked.

“Sure. I um...”

She stood and knotted the ties of her shirt into a bow. “Then let’s get to it before I shove you down and have some hex with you.”

She’d let him ponder the use of that word for what she really wanted to do to him. The man had ignited something within her. And she had never been a witch to deny herself the pleasures life offered.

Chapter 6

Parked at the curb, Ethan waited for Tuesday while she purchased food from a stand. He didn’t use the BMW often because he walked to work even in the winter. Vampires could easily regulate their body temperature. But the trip to the park would prove long on foot, and he didn’t want the witch to suffer the cold, especially walking in those high-heeled boots.

Tuesday slid in and closed the door and settled back to chomp on a savory-smelling crepe.

“You want a bite? It’s got weird French cheese and ham in it. This is amazing.”

“I’d rather suck dead blood,” he muttered.

“Oh, yeah? What’s wrong with a little taste once in a while? I know vampires can eat small amounts of food.”

“I don’t have a taste for meat. I get enough of the flavor when I drink blood. And you just dripped fontina onto the leather seat. Would you be careful?”

“Fontina, eh? Don’t tell me you don’t steal a taste every now and then.” She swiped a napkin over the seat and then leaned forward, pointing. “That’s the—What is it?”

“The Louvre,” he pronounced carefully.

“Louv-ra, with the ra-ra shout at the end,” she mocked. “You’re not French, are you?”

“I’m English. Born in London, actually, but I didn’t stay there more than a decade. I’ve lived everywhere. Spent some time in the Americas in the 1700s. Right around the time Massachusetts became a state.”

“Good times,” she said, sitting back. “Puritanical shame, Indian genocide and witch hunts. Go, witch hunters! Not.”

Ethan shouldn’t have brought that up. If she knew about the travesties he’d committed against witches when he had been a young vampire only set on impressing his tribe leaders? He’d be very thankful for the binding spell that prevented her from using magic against him.

“Have you been in Paris before?” he asked.

“Once or twice. Never for longer than a month or two. And never in a mood to do any touristing. Once I was here looking for a bastard imp who stole my voice. Little creep isn’t singing or snickering anymore. What’s that?”

“The Luxor Obelisk.” Ethan drove by the seventy-five-foot-high yellow granite obelisk placed in the center of the Place de la Concorde at the end of the Tuileries Garden. “Originally located at the Luxor Temple in Egypt—a gift from Muhammad Ali Pasha, the ruler of Egypt at the time.”

“You know the city’s history.”

“I’ve lived it. Of all my centuries, I’ve spent the most time in Paris. And up ahead is the Champs-Élysées.”

“Oh, I know that’s a good shopping street. Should have waited to get my togs up ahead.” She scanned the signs screaming for customers to come in and spend their precious euros. They passed luxury-car dealers and high-end clothing retailers. And... “There’s a McDonalds on the classy upscale shopping street?”

“And movie rental stores,” Ethan said. “Go figure. It’s all a big tourist trap. But then, this street has been ever since Napoleonic times.”

“More good times,” Tuesday offered. “The Inquisition was still around then. You gotta love a self-righteous maniac intent on destroying that which he does not understand. And if it’s a woman, then even more reason to put her in her place.”

“Do you remember any good times that were actually good?”

“Oh, sure. I loved the late nineteenth century. So bohemian. We witches really got to shine then. The seventies and the hippies also welcomed us with open arms. What’s that? Wait! I know this one.”

Ethan stopped the car at a light before he would enter the roundabout before the monument.

“The arch of triumph, right?”

“Right.” He wouldn’t correct her too harshly. “Napoleon’s Arc d’Triomphe, erected to honor those who served in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars. There’s a tomb of an unknown soldier beneath it. If you go to the top it offers a great view of the whole city.”

“Then let’s do it. Yeah?”

“After the demon is found you can take all the time you like for sightseeing.”

“Because then you’ll cut my leash and set me free?”

He didn’t like hearing it put that way, but it was the truth. “Exactly.”

Ten minutes later they pulled in to the park, which was massive and filled with sports areas, a zoo and playgrounds, housing and entertainment complexes. And yet there was still a preserved forested area, an oasis set at the border of the big, cosmopolitan city. A light dusting of snow clung to the trees, giving the forest a faery-tale touch as sun twinkled on the snow.

Ethan parked in a lot before a hiking trail. He kept the car running because the witch would probably appreciate the heat. He pulled on his blue-lensed sunglasses. He could walk in direct sunlight a few minutes without feeling the burn, and much longer in the winter sun. And these lenses were also charmed to view wards, which served as more than a means to protection from sizzling retinas.

“What’s the plan?” Tuesday asked. “Are we going to tromp about the park and call ‘Here, demon, come on, demon!’”

“Won’t that sigil you wear lead us to him?”

“Right.” She touched her chest and closed her eyes. “Or him to me. Not that he’d come running with arms wide open to embrace me.”

Ethan sensed she plummeted to some place very low whenever she touched the sigil. He had to ask. “Tell me how you got the sigil? It could be helpful to know what I’m dealing with here.”

“Now you decide to ask about the stakes? You are so not a romantic, vampire.”

“What does romance have to do with anything?”

“Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and averted her gaze out the window. “Kisses don’t have any place between us, either.”

“I beg to differ. They have proven a useful tool for me.”

“Again, not a romantic bone in your body, eh?”

“What? Do you require emotion, some feeling next time I kiss you?”

“You think you’re going to kiss me again?”

“Probably.”

She turned on the seat to look at him. “Why? Do you like kissing me?”

“It was pleasant.” He sounded like an asshole, but what was she angling for right now with that teasing question? The woman was a curiously complex mixture of opposites. One minute she was trying to put a hex on him to make his dick limp, the next she wanted to make out. “Do you want to kiss me again?”

She sat up, lifting her chin haughtily. “You haven’t been kissed by me yet, vampire. When I kiss you properly? You’ll know. And you’ll never have to wonder if you want another again. Because you will. You’ll crave my kiss, my touch. You’ll want to hex me every chance you get.”

Ethan offered a shrug. “Have to say, that does sound intriguing.”

“Damn right it does. So we heading out on the demon quest?”

“First, I need the details.” He pushed back his seat and tilted to face her comfortably. Taking off the sunglasses, he asked, “Tell me how you got Gazariel’s sigil.”

Boston, MA—1680

Finnister McAdams was going blind. He wore a black strip of sack cloth across his eyes now because he had explained to Tuesday how the light bothered him. Made him blink and gave him headaches. ’Twas as if the devil was prodding his eyes with his mighty pitchfork.

Tuesday knew well the Devil Himself did not wield a pitchfork, but to correct him would only put her in danger. She’d prepared Finn an herbal tincture in his morning tea. Rosemary, black salts and feverfew. Had cast a healing spell...without him knowing. Even laid mustard plasters over his eyes. Nothing proved efficacious.

Now she considered calling up a demon to aid in healing her lover’s eyes. Such creatures did possess healing powers. At least, a few of them did so. If only the witch summoning them could find a beneficent demon. And that was the challenge.

Tuesday loved her man, Finn. From the moment he’d settled next to her in the lavender field and compared her eyes to the sky, she had loved him desperately. Three months they had been sharing her tiny cabin at the edge of the village with one another. Finn was strong and proud, and very handsome. His hair was copper, his thick beard as well. His skin was ruddy and pale, so he always wore a wide-brimmed hat when outside. He was fashioned of flame and earth. And when he held her in his arms it wasn’t tentative or rough. He knew how to hold a woman. And Tuesday’s heart fluttered when he kissed her.

But if he knew she was a witch he would be displeased. The man was Puritan. His family had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean from England six months earlier. His father was seeking a congregation to share and spread the word of God. And Finnister, while a godly man, seemed more inclined to craftwork that involved turning wood into beautiful creations. He even fashioned lovely knife hilts, and had skill with a blade.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.