The demon kissed her.

And he was still kissing her.

Tamatha backed up against the brick wall and wobbled in her pink leather heels, but he caught her about the waist with a sure and guiding hand— not breaking the incredible, shockingly hot kiss.

This man kissed her like he knew her. Had tasted her lips before. His mouth was firm and demanding, intent. Nothing about him being a demon repelled her. Everything about him made her want to get closer, dive deeper. To study him for more reasons than that he was demon. If she could run her hands over his skin, she would. She must.

She pushed her hands over his shoulders and teased the short, dark hair at the back of his neck. And then she glided up the back of his scalp and forward. Her forefingers glanced over the adamant growths at his temples she suspected were horns. Interesting. And he answered her greedy coax by dashing his tongue against hers and daring her to meet him as he deepened the kiss. Which she did.

MICHELE HAUF 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.

Captivating the Witch

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The evening hours in the Council’s archives were indeterminable from the daylight because the vast archives were located two stories below Parisian ground and formed a labyrinth of rooms, cubbies and hallways over many acres. It was like something out of a fantasy movie with the secret passageways and mysterious decor that might suddenly open to a dark chasm so cold your breath would fog, or a dimly lit library whose ceiling soared many stories high, or instead a small Regency-styled tearoom smelling of lilacs.

And sometimes after the witching hour things started moving.

Nestled in a room filled to the industrial iron-beam rafters with dusty old tomes and spiderwebs, Tamatha Bellerose noticed the thoroughly modern fluorescent lighting flickered. Someone was either accessing a security camera or one of the biometric-scan doors. Probably her boss, Certainly Jones, was on his way to remind her—as he did at least once a week—she didn’t have to work so late.

Tamatha didn’t mind. Since being hired to work in the Archives three months ago, she had been in a witch’s information heaven. While she had been hired for general filing and straightening, it was approved that she would spend time studying as she had mentioned that was her reason for seeking the job. Not a problem for her boss. And when Certainly had suggested she choose one of the messier storage rooms—the one housing all demonic artifacts, texts and accoutrements—she’d been thrilled.

Diabology fascinated her. Her grandmother Lysia (whom she had not the pleasure to know) had been a diabolotrist. The tales told by Tamatha’s mother, Petrina Bellerose, had been enough to stir Tamatha’s curiosity. She wanted to learn everything she could about demons because they were such varied and interesting creatures. And they weren’t all bad, as most people assumed. Their species and assorted breeds were as numerous and diverse as the humans who walked the earth.

She’d decided to start with the demons who inhabited the mortal realm, and after she’d learned all that was available, she’d move on to those occupying Daemonia, the Place of All Demons, and then Faery, and then perhaps even Beneath. Many years of work ahead of her to master diabology. She hoped Certainly wouldn’t mind if this cleanup project carried on awhile.

There wasn’t much else to do in the Archives beyond dusting and looking up things when her boss requested the assistance. The Archives housed the largest collection of paranormal ephemera in the known universe. All spells and grimoires, a copy of the Book of All Spells, potions, objects of magical nature and even creatures of mysterious origins. Some were preserved through taxidermy or in creepy glass receptacles. Some were even stored live.

Beyond the label of assistant archivist, Tamatha considered herself a keeper of books and historical material that told stories about the paranormal species and shaped their origins and evolution. And that was pretty cool.

Sighing, she leaned over the centuries-old grimoire of Basic Demonic Bindings and took a moment to consider how lucky she was to have scored this job. It paid the bills and she got to learn. A witch couldn’t ask for much more than that.

Not that she needed the money. She was quite well-off, thanks to nearly a century of wise investments. And she never got so deeply into a relationship with a man that they considered marriage, and thus, joining incomes. That way lay poverty, Tamatha believed. Her last lover, a cat shapeshifter, had been quick to suggest marriage, a combining of their lives. The familiar had been too charming, too suave. And she had fallen for his seductive spell like a cat to nip. Only, she had suddenly remembered one day, while in the midst of a sensual reverie, how much she didn’t like cats. And then the family curse had seen to preventing any rash decisions she may have made regarding making the relationship permanent.

The Bellerose curse ensured the females in her family for the past three generations had bad luck with love and lovers. Relationships never lasted. Most lovers went mad. Literally. The occasional unlucky lover ended up dead.

The familiar had been run over by a car a month after suggesting he and Tamatha start a family together.

Over the decades, a few other lovers had died, but maudlin grief wasn’t her style. She’d written such expected deaths off as the Bellerose curse and had moved forward. It was something she knew how to do. It was all Tamatha had ever known, for she had watched many of her mother’s lovers die, as well.

“But I am hopeful,” she whispered.

She was determined to never give up on love. Someday it might stick. And she strove to follow the family motto: Love Often. Yet what was generally whispered after that declaration of love was “because they never last long.” Not so much a family joke as the truth.

Why she was musing over the fate of the Bellerose women’s lovers was beyond her. Though her mind did tend to wander after hours bent over a book. Not that there was anything at all wrong with that. Tamatha’s favorite thing in the world was to lose herself in a book. And to try out new spells.

“I want to test this binding spell,” she said and tapped the handwritten text before her. “I think I’ve got it down. Just say the right words—scatura, demonicus, vold—and voilà!” Bound demon.

From there, she could ask the demon questions and study it while not having to worry it might harm her. Because the best way to learn was from the source. She preferred live studies as opposed to dusty tomes. But she had no demon friends, and none of her witch friends had close demonic contacts, either. Which was a good thing. She didn’t run with witches who summoned demons to do their bidding. That was cruel.

She wondered how difficult it would be to locate a demon willing to let her bind it. She had lived in Paris only a little over a year, after moving here from Belgrade, where—well, yes, that shapeshifter affair. Her “friends” list was slowly growing, listing mostly witches, because that was who she generally trusted and understood. But there were a couple vampires and the werewolf/vampire half-breed Rhys Hawkes whom she considered her friends.

Her boss, Certainly Jones—or CJ, as he asked her to call him—was a dark witch who practiced the dark arts. Didn’t make him evil or wrong. The dark was necessary to balance the light, which was what Tamatha practiced.

Though adding diabology to her oeuvre would darken her talents. She didn’t mind shadowing her aura. She aimed to be well-rounded in all magical arts, and knowledge of all aspects of witchcraft would help her to understand and relate to others much better. And as long as she avoided malefic magic, she was good with the balancing act the light and dark would work on her soul.

“Tamatha?”

She spun around from the grimoire she’d been perusing to spy CJ’s dark sweep of long hair. He stuck his head between the opened door and wall. The tattoo on his neck was a ward against vampires. CJ sported dozens of tattoos and most were spells or wards.

Tamatha found a tattooed man incredibly sexy. Something about creating art on his skin to share with the world. But she would keep it professional with CJ. His wife would appreciate that.

“I’ll leave soon, boss. It is after hours, and I wanted to do some studying. I found something interesting.”

“It’s after midnight.”

“Really?” Wow, time had flown this evening. She eyed the teapot on the table, which was empty—five cups ago. “Right. I suppose I should be heading out.” Not that she ever slept more than a few hours a night. “I’ll be back in the morning, bright and early.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” CJ said as she gathered her purse and stepped into her high-heeled shoes, which she always slipped off when she tucked up her legs in the plush gray velvet easy chair. “I don’t want to see you in here until Monday. Got that?”

She saluted him. He winked and left her to straighten the work area and turn out the lights. While her OCD magic generally took care of things in her immediate range, snapping unarranged items into order as she walked by, it worked only in close range. Mostly, humans didn’t notice, and those who did, she quickly did a hands-on straighten to make it look as though she’d physically touched the object.

Swiping her hand over a sprinkling of dust on the top of a stack of books, she had to restrain herself from grabbing the feather duster. And then she couldn’t resist a quick touch-up. Tapping her littlest fingers together, which activated her air magic, she blew gently over a row of books. The dust swirled and lifted and dispersed into nothing.

With a satisfied nod, she said, “Always better than manual labor. So! Midnight. And a full moon tonight. This night promises a new beginning.”

Or so it had said in her horoscope that she’d read on the back of a stranger’s newspaper while taking the Métro to work this morning.

“Ha! Horoscopes,” she said with a laugh as she strolled down the dimly lit hallway to the elevator, her heels clicking brightly on the bare concrete floor. “I’ll take real astrology any day. And that says the full moon brings family and challenge to my life.”

Her only living family—her mother, Petrina—lived in Greece with her current lover. Petrina and Tamatha talked once a month. They had a great relationship. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on the degree of attachment—Petrina’s lover was dying. Again, the curse. Her mother wasn’t upset over it. Though she had mentioned something about perhaps giving him some belladonna to help him along so he didn’t have to suffer.

As for the challenge the horoscope had promised... “I like a good adventure.” But she wouldn’t admit that adventure was hard to come by with her nose stuck in a book all day. Her life was exciting. Mostly.

Maybe.

“Hardly.”

So she put a lot of focus and energy into her studies. She had mastered earth, air, water and even fire magic. The sigils tattooed on her fingers representing each of the four elements allowed for easy access to a specific elemental spell. She also practiced ornithomancy (divination by birds), alomancy (divination by salt) and pyromancy (fire divination). And her venture into diabology would eventually add demonomancy to that list. As far as witches went, Tamatha was quite powerful. But never powerful enough when the world offered so many opportunities to learn and expand her knowledge.

She stepped into the elevator and tugged at her gray pencil skirt with fingers beringed in lapis lazuli (for truth), amethyst (for grounding and balance) and bloodstone (for healing). The elevator moved laboriously up two floors. She’d left her reading glasses on, and she now tucked them into her purse. They were fabulous cat’s-eye frames bespangled with rhinestones at the corners of each eye. She was into the rockabilly look and was pleased it was actually making a style comeback with the humans. Easier to fit in when she resembled others.

On the other hand, she never wanted to conform. That was for uninteresting people who didn’t know themselves.

Once out of the elevator, she nodded goodbye to the hirsute night guard, who she suspected was a werewolf, but he never seemed to want to converse, barely looking up from his handheld television as she passed and never offering a vocal “au revoir” or even a confirming nod.

Ah well, she couldn’t befriend them all. And he was a shapeshifter, so yeah, nix that.

Located on the Right Bank in the 11th arrondissement, the Council headquarters opened into a dreary alleyway that was far from parking or any Métro station. Out of the way and unassuming. Tamatha could do without the ten-minute walk to the closest subway. She lived across the river in the 6th, near the Luxembourg Gardens. It was a fine walk on a sunny day, when she remembered to bring along walking flats. Not tonight, though, with the promise of rain thickening the air.

Muttering the words to the demon binding spell, she delighted in how easily she remembered things like Latin spells or even long ingredient lists for poultices and charms. If only her luck with men could be so simple and long lasting.

The curious thing about the family curse was that no one was really sure how it had originated, nor had anyone tried to vanquish it. Sure, the Bellerose women were independent and much preferred lovers to a more permanent husband. But Tamatha had already had her share of lost lovers since she’d started dating in her late teens in the 1930s. She was ready for some permanence. For a good old-fashioned love affair that might result in something more promising than death to the male party.

Warm summer raindrops spattered her cheek and she picked up into a sort-of run. The fastest she could manage in four-inch heels and with a tight skirt was a penguin waddle.

Touching her middle fingers together to ask for a rain-parting spell, she dodged left into a cobblestoned alleyway she knew was sheltered with close-spaced roof ledges—and she ran right into a man. He had been walking swiftly as well, and when they collided he let out an “ouff” and gripped her by the shoulders.

The first thing Tamatha noticed in the moon-shielded darkness was the glint of something shiny and black at his temples, beneath the hairline, and the barest scent of sulfur. Demon? A brief red glow ignited in his eyes.

She reacted. “Scatura, demonicus, vold!”

“Wait—”

It was too late for his protest. The man dropped her, his arms slapping to his sides and his body going rigid. He wore half gloves on his hands, and his exposed fingers crooked into ridged claws. His feet stiffened within his boots and he teetered, falling backward, his shoulders and head hitting the brick wall of the building but a foot behind him.

His eyes glowed red and he growled at her through tight jaws. “Witch!”

Chapter 2

Edamite Thrash had been minding his own business, racing against the rain to get home, when he collided with a deliciously scented female with skin like ivory, hair the color of silvered snow and wide green eyes. It was as if entering another realm when he’d touched her and she had surrounded him with citrus, sensuality and softness, and then—

Damn it. He couldn’t move his limbs. And his veins felt as if ice flowed through them. The chill was moving down his thighs and toward his calves. Every muscle strung tightly. The witch had bound him.

“Get this...off me,” he hissed, thankful he could still speak. Though he clenched his jaw tighter. And his body leaned against the wall. How soon before his boots would slide on the wet pavement and he toppled? “Damn you! Witch!”

“Oh my goddess, it really worked!” she said with more enthusiasm than he thought appropriate.

The witch peered into his eyes as if looking for something she’d lost. Even in the darkness her giddy thrill showed in the gemstone gleam of her gaze. Stepping back, she looked him up and down. From the top of his slicked-back black hair, down his black suit and trousers, to his leather boots. Ed had never felt more humiliated. So inadequate. If he could lift a hand he would make her regret it. In his trouser pocket he felt his mobile phone vibrate. No one would call him at his private number unless it was important.

“I’ve always wanted to bind a demon,” she offered with a gleeful clasp of hands before her. Many crystal rings flashed in the moonlight and he noted the small tattoos on the midjoints of each of her fingers. Sigils of some sort. Nasty witch business, no doubt. “And I did it!”

“Against my will,” he snarled. “Take this binding...off me, or...” To make the sounds leave his mouth was a monumental task. “I will kill you, witch!”

Her happiness flattened to curious concern as she tilted her head and tapped her lower lip. A plump pink lip that looked all too tempting even in his bound, defenseless state.

What was he thinking? Witches were disgusting.

“You actually think that threatening to kill me will convince me to release you?” she prompted.

Probably not. But he’d been speaking reactively not rationally.

“Fine. Please, witch—” Oh, how he hated to condescend to her sort.

“My name is Tamatha.” She offered her hand to shake, and when he could but look at it, a pitiful statue tilted against the wall, she dropped her hand. “Sorry. My bad. I learned the demon binding spell this evening. Must be the full moon. It’s magical, isn’t it?”

Ed inhaled a deep breath to calm his anger. He had to do something if he was going to talk his way out of this one. “How about I promise not to harm a hair on your witchy head if you remove the binding? I mean, what are you going to do with a stiff demon anyway?”

Her lips curled to an expectant smirk, and her eyes brightened as they strolled down the front of his torso to just there.

And Ed realized what he’d said. Really? Her mind went there? Well, he could entertain a few lascivious thoughts about those lips— No! This situation was embarrassing and ridiculous. And never would he entertain anything with a witch. Been there, done that. Learned his lesson well.

“Please, Tamatha?” Right, appeal to her personally. Befriend the enemy.

“Before I release the binding, tell me your name,” she entreated, “and what breed of demon you are. I’m studying diabology. I’m very interested in your species.”

Yikes. The woman was some kind of fangirl. That creeped him out. Just his luck with women, though. They either wanted to marvel over his oddities or run screaming from them.

“If I give you my name, you’ve control over me,” he said tightly. His jaw muscles felt like stretched iron. “Not going to happen.”

“Oh, but I— Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Witches can control demons with their full names. Could you maybe tell me what kind of demon you are? I’ll release you then. Cross my heart.”

The gesture of crossing her heart disturbed Ed. He would have flinched if he wasn’t bound. He’d once been told about the witch’s crossed heart but couldn’t recall what it meant. A wicked gesture with malefic intent?

He didn’t want to give her anything, but her knowing his breed wasn’t going to hurt him any more than this wicked chill icing his veins. “Corax demon,” he said. And then, to keep it light and perhaps her mood light as well, he offered, “Such fortune that I run into a witch who is practicing her spells this ugly moonlit night.”

“Oh, it’s not ugly out. You think it is? Rain is cleansing and it washes away the icky city smells.”

“What I think is that we are done conversing. The cold.” It took all his effort to curl his fingers upward into an ineffectual claw. “It’s icing in my veins.”

“Oh! Really? That must be a side effect of the spell. Yes, I think I recall the binding, if left on too long, will paralyze. There was also the side effect of chilblains, headaches and possible extended, er—” Her eyes dropped to his crotch again.

Ed gritted his jaws. Really? His cock was hard, now he noticed. Even more humiliation. Gorgeous as she was, this chick was one wacky witch. Who smelled like something he wanted to bury his nose in and suck down whole—damn it!

“Vold, demonicis, scaratus,” she recited.

With but a sweep of her hand before his chest, the chill exited Ed’s veins downward, seeming to sluice out the soles of his boots. His shoulders relaxed, as did his legs. He started to go down. The witch reached to help him, and in her sudden panic, she grabbed him by the head. Her palms slapped warmly against his temples. The horn nubs that jutted up but millimeters through his hair heated and glowed beneath her touch.

He never let anyone touch his horns. Mercy, but that felt too good. The contact provided enough energy transfer to allow him to straighten his legs and catch himself before sprawling on the ground.

Coming upright before her, he matched her height, which was a surprise, but then he decided she must have been wearing high heels. Excellent. That would make it difficult for her to run when he strangled her.

Ed gripped her by the neck, squeezing as hard as his anger would allow him to squeeze, and—

* * *

The demon kissed her.

When Tamatha had expected him to hit her, to bruise her with his terrible clutch about her neck in retaliation for the binding she’d put on him, he instead...kissed her.

And he was still kissing her.

Her pink leather shoe heels backed up against the brick wall and she wobbled, but he caught her about the waist with a sure and guiding hand, not breaking the incredible, shockingly hot kiss.

This kiss was the furthest thing from retaliation. So she surrendered to the weird moment and even forgot about the rain spell, reveling in the spill of warm summer rain down her neck and cheeks.

This man kissed her as if he knew her. Had tasted her lips before. His mouth was firm and demanding, intent. Nothing about him being a demon repelled her. Everything about him made her want to get closer, dive deeper and seek his insides. To study him for more reason than that he was demon. If she could run her hands over his skin, she would. She must.

She dropped her shoulder bag and pushed her hands over his shoulders and teased the short, dark hair at the back of his neck, gripping it to hold him at her mouth. And then she glided up the back of his scalp and forward. Her forefingers glanced over the adamant growths at his temples she suspected were horns. Interesting. And he answered her greedy coax by dashing his tongue against hers and daring her to meet him as he deepened the kiss. Which she did.

The sulfur she’d originally scented was no longer noticeable. The crisp, cool tang of his aftershave filled her senses with ice and cedar. She would never forget this man’s scent.

What was his name? Sure, she could control him with his name, but she wouldn’t. Maybe. The binding had been an unintended reaction. But what joy that it had worked! Of course, then he had called her a witch with such vitriol she had tasted his hatred for her as if it were acid on her tongue.

If he would stop kissing her she could step back and be wary.

On the other hand, right now, lack of wariness suited her fine.

He muttered an appreciative moan against her mouth, and then as suddenly as he’d kissed her, he pulled away and wiped his lips. “Wha—?” He winced and shook his head. “What the hell? Why did I...? I did not just kiss a witch.”

“Uh, yes, you did. And it was awesome.”

“Not awesome. No! Witches are...vile.” Again he wiped his lips, and Tamatha cringed. He admonished her with a wagging finger before her face. “You made me do that.”

“No, I—”

He snapped his fingers, abruptly cutting her off as if she were a child being scolded by a rude teacher. “If you want to keep breathing, stay away from me, witch.”

And he stalked off, glancing over his shoulder at her once. He slapped his hand against a thigh, tugging a phone out of his pocket, and stomped away.

Tamatha offered a wave. Silly. And stupid. He’d been offended by kissing her? She hadn’t made him do a thing. He’d wanted to kiss her.

Vile?

“Not so pleased about kissing you, either,” she muttered.

But she couldn’t quite bring herself to wipe off his kiss. Instead, she tapped her mouth and decided to stick with the good memory of his demanding and sensual lips against hers.

“I kissed a demon,” she said in wonder. And for as much as he had been repulsed, she could not summon a tendril of disgust. A smile curled her rain-sprinkled lips. “And I liked it.”

* * *

He clicked to answer the ringing cell phone as he stalked away from the repulsive witch. She had tasted—well, not vile, but rather sweet. Though he’d not admit that out loud.

“Thrash! You gotta help. They’re getting closer. I can’t get out of here!”

It was his friend Laurent LaVolliere, a fellow demon whom he considered family, for their grand-relations had once formed the Libre denizen centuries earlier here in the very heart of Paris. Laurent sounded out of breath and frightened. The man was a strife demon; it took a lot to frighten him.

“Tell me where you are, Laurent.”

“The Montparnasse!”

“Where in...the cemetery?”

“Their skin... Ed, it’s falling from their faces. And...stuff is oozing from their mouths. There’s so many of them. I can feel their dark magic. So...powerful. I can’t move!”

The terror in his friend’s voice sent a shiver down his spine. “I’ll be right there. Hold on.”

Ed shoved the phone into his pocket. Yet something compelled him to glance over his shoulder. The witch was nowhere to be seen. Talk about tormenting demons under the full moon.

But he couldn’t bother with a silly witch and that ridiculously hot kiss. Laurent was in trouble.

He spread back his arms and tilted back his head. The sensation of feathered barbs piercing his flesh always hurt like a mother. The price he had to pay for shifting. His molecules rearranged and did their own thing and his form separated into dozens of soot-winged ravens. As one entity the conspiracy of ravens swooped upward and soared in the direction of the cemetery. Beyond a vast city garden, the graveyard marked a dark blot amid the roofed and pavement-tangled city.

When he came to human form with a shiver of his body to gather in his energy and shake off a feather or two, he stood in a dark graveyard packed with tombstones, mausoleums, crumbling stone crosses and moss-frosted angels. Fully clothed, a phenomenon beyond his explanation, he wore no trace of his previous form. He could smell the anomaly immediately and felt its presence as a tightening in his horn nubs. And the witch ward on his forearm burned as it had not previously in the alley.

When his eyes landed on the band of growling creatures—who were wrapped in shredded linens, some of their hair gone and skin indeed falling away from some of their bones—he heard his friend’s scream. And witnessed his destruction.

Laurent let out one agonizing shout at sight of Ed: “Les Douze!” Then his body was torn away at shoulders, hips and head. His remains did not immediately ash as with most demon deaths.

One of the hideous creatures sighted Ed. He reactively sent a stream of energy mined from his vita, his very life force, toward it, which manifested as black smoke, enforced with demonic magic. The force should knock it from its feet and slam it into the nearby tombstone, breaking its body and killing it. The current of black energy coiled about the creature. Instead of succumbing to defeat, the zombielike thing merely swayed as if an annoying breeze had washed over its decrepit structure.

The rest of the creatures spied Ed. The one next to the thing that had taken his energy zap as if a mosquito sting dropped Laurent’s disembodied arm and growled at him. One opened its mouth and the lower jaw unhinged.

“Didn’t think zombies existed,” he hissed.

Zombies were not tops on his list. He never watched the popular television show because they were so unbelievable. The dead did not come back to life. Right?

The group of things—whatever they were—groaned and stalked toward him.

Ed knew when he was overwhelmed, and he was going to count his lacking ability to put the one off its feet to lingering remnants of the sexy witch’s binding spell.

“Find your rest, Laurent!” he shouted, then shifted to a conspiracy and flew out of there and back to his home, where he landed on the rooftop, fell to his knees and caught his palms on the concrete surface.

It was raining harder, and he prayed no lightning snapped the sky. Lightning worked like an electrical jolt to his bones, no matter how distant the occurrence.

Shifting into and out of his humanlike demon form took a lot out of him. He rarely utilized the skill because he could generally get where he needed to go by car or on foot. He’d be exhausted for hours now. But he was safe at home. Safe from...

“What the hell killed my friend?”

Chapter 3

Les Douze was French for The Twelve. And something about that moniker rang a bell in Ed’s memory. Perhaps he and Laurent had discussed it once? But why, and what did it mean?

After searching for hours through the database his office maintained—hacked from Hawkes Associates—Ed learned The Twelve had been a coven of witches from the eighteenth century who had been accused of witchcraft by the locals and burned to death in the Place de Grève, which was now the Place de l’Hôtel de Ville, or city hall. A remarkable and grisly event that the human Parisians had talked about for decades and the real witches would never forget.

That verified what Ed suspected. He rubbed the small, solid black circle sigil on his forearm that had burned when he’d first landed in the cemetery. Indeed, those creatures had been witches. But what sort? Witches were generally alive. Not even generally, but rather, exclusively.

Those things after Laurent had been remarkably zombielike. With skin falling from their limbs, their only audible sounds had been grunts and groans. Strange, metallic gray stuff had oozed from their mouths. But really? Had dead witches killed Laurent?

“But Les Douze were burned,” he muttered, closing his laptop and leaning back in his office chair. “They were reduced to ashes. Things don’t come back from the dead. Not usually.”

He’d heard the rumor about a tribe of revenant vampires who had been resurrected from the dead. And sure, he guessed dark magic could bring anything back to life. A dark witch or warlock could conjure such a monstrosity. But it would be a real zombie. Zombies were shambling bone sacks. Their brains had to be degraded or completely gone. A revenant could not feasibly survive for long.

As far as he knew.

Ed wasn’t up on zombies and dead things. He didn’t want to be, either. But he had watched his friend get torn, literally, limb from limb. He couldn’t ignore that horrific incident. And no doubt, Laurent had tried to communicate something about Les Douze.

The office was quiet and vast. Black marble stretched the floor and up all the walls. It was peaceful here six floors above the big bustling city. Sometimes too peaceful. But then again, something always happened to shake him to the core and exercise his diplomacy and survival skills. Like impossible zombie witches killing his friend.

Thinking about witches made Ed shudder. Demons and witches had a strange and volatile relationship. Most witches could not control a demon unless they had originally summoned that demon. Likewise, demons hadn’t much control over witches. But the most powerful witches could control demons and use them for nefarious means. Every demon child was told scary tales at bedtime, and Ed’s mother had loved to frighten him with tales of wicked witches.

There’s nothing you can do to outrun them. He recalled the creepy, dramatic voice of his mother, Sophie, as she’d lean over the bed and speak to the sheet he’d pulled over his head in fright. If you ever see a witch, Edamite, run!

Of course, then his mother would laugh and leave him shivering in bed, wishing his father were actually married to his mother and living with them so he could run to him for a sympathetic hug. It hadn’t been that his mother was vindictive. Ed guessed she simply never realized how those tales had freaked out her son.

Unfortunately, such childhood frights had not completely warned him off witches. He’d dated two. Two too many.

The first had been flighty and fascinated by his demonic nature, yet had only lasted so long as he could endure her silly human propensity to gossip, shop and text, text and text some more. The second had tried to enslave him and had come so close that he’d felt her power strip him of his innate magical defenses. It had been three days of relentless torture he would never forget.

But he was a grown man now. He was a high-ranked demon in the city of Paris, thanks to his not showing fear in the face of challenge and his tendency to take charge and get things done. He was respected and revered by his kind. And witches should walk a wide circle around him.

Not kiss him.

You were the one who kissed her.

Funny thing, that. She must have used magic to get him to lock lips with her. Why she would do that was beyond him. Must have been a distraction so he wouldn’t strangle her in retaliation for the binding. Weird way to go about shifting the balance of power. And how had she, a witch, controlled him when she had not summoned him?

“She must have great power,” he muttered.

But did it matter? He should not give another moment’s consideration to a pretty witch with wide green eyes and soft lips, whose derriere had wiggled teasingly in her tight skirt. He’d learned his lesson. Witches could never be trusted.

There were more important things on the table now.

Some very powerful magic had been present in that cemetery. It had torn Laurent apart. As well, he’d felt the air crackle with the unseen magic. A force greater than the creatures he’d witnessed, perhaps? He wielded demonic magic, but if the tales of demon/witch relations were accurate, it was never effective against witches for long. And he suspected his ability to use magic against witches had irrevocably weakened, thanks to his ill-fated romance with Witch Number Two.

Yet, if it were witches, he was going to need some powerful magic to figure this out. At the very least, provide him with answers, perhaps some suggestions as to how to approach the creatures he had seen.

Had Laurent’s death been a bizarre but singular event? Did he have to kill them? How to kill them? Only another witch’s magic might serve the killing blow.

Could he lower himself to work with a witch? There must be someone else who could tell him about witch magic. The werewolves and vampires Ed called allies likely wouldn’t know much. He considered contacting John Malcolm, the exorcist he kept on his payroll. The man was more versed in demons and ghosts. Though he had begun dabbling in witch finding. It was a medieval, yet very necessary, practice that few specialized in nowadays.

Ah hell. He’d give it a go and contact a witch. For Laurent’s sake. The man had been a good friend; he deserved the investigation, if not downright vengeance. And Ed would rather jump into a situation with a knowledgeable enemy than wait for a less informed ally to wander along and half ass the situation.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Inego, one of his field assistants. “I need you to find the most powerful witch in Paris,” he said. “Bring John Malcolm along.”

“The nutty one with the crazy eyes? Isn’t he an exorcist?” Inego asked.

“Yes, but he’s added witch finding to his oeuvre. He should be able to track one for you.”

* * *

Tamatha had encountered a corax demon. She wrote the term in her purple-glitter-covered notebook and underlined it. The breed was related, somehow, to the Corvus corax species of ravens. Perhaps the demon could shift to raven form? Many demons possessed shifting abilities. She’d have to look it up when she got to work on Monday.

What she did know was that the breed could be very grumpy following a kiss. And not at all friendly. She wasn’t going to write about the kiss in her notes, though.

She set the notebook aside and it automatically straightened on the bench to align with the painted brown wood. She pulled out from her purse a pair of black rhinestone-bespangled sunglasses. The high sun warmed the Luxembourg Gardens today. The air smelled green and alive. A nearby pear tree scented the air sweetly. Yet she wished she were inside, two stories belowground, sorting through dusty pages in the archives.

But she would follow her boss’s suggestion that she not return to work until Monday. Perhaps a relaxing weekend was needed. So to put herself in the vacation mood, she had given herself a mani/pedi this morning. The gray, sparkly polish glinted in the sunlight and went well with the silver rings she wore and her hair. She’d got her silver hair from her mother, whose shade had been slightly darker and tinted blue. Petrina had told her Grandma Lysia’s had been blue-black.

The park wasn’t as crowded as she’d expect on a sunny day. It was early yet and most were probably at home eating breakfast, save for a few mothers and their children scattered around the pond tracking sailboats.

Tamatha worshipped nature and was pleased she’d found a place to live so close to this lush garden escape. The few people who did wander about also soaked in the sunshine. When had the Parisian men started wearing such tight, brightly colored pants? Not at all garish, the style showed off some nice thighs and well-shaped derrieres. Had she really been away from the dating scene for so long? She preferred a stylish, gentlemanly look, groomed hair and maybe some stubble and a mustache.

“And tattoos,” she said with a smile.

She had many. Some were spell tattoos; others were personal, such as the Bellerose family crest she wore on her right biceps. It featured a bell-shaped pink rose surrounded by black and gray shaded arabesques, and the family motto Love Often was inked in Latin—Amor Modum Saepe.

She recalled the corax demon had tattoos on his neck. A vampire ward similar to the one she wore in white ink (more discreet). And the backs of his hands had been virtually blackened with ink, though maybe that had been the black leather half gloves creating the effect; she’d looked so quickly. That was the only body art she had noticed because he’d worn a suit and buttoned-up gray dress shirt, which had given him a GQ-with-an-edge look. And his black hair and brows had drawn her focus to his pale gray eyes.

Eyes that had briefly glowed red. She wondered now if the glow was something that happened without his volition. Was it controlled by emotion? Anger? Reaction to surroundings? Instinct? Was he aware when they turned red? All of the above?

So many questions and so many books to read to learn the answers. The prospect of research thrilled her.

She smoothed a hand over the volume on European demon breeds she’d taken from the Archives, thinking reading was pleasurable, but an afternoon sitting across a café table from a sexy demon, asking him anything and everything she wanted to know, would prove more desirable. Gazing into his eyes. Drawing in that interesting icy cedar scent...

Tamatha straightened abruptly and slammed the book shut. “You do not have a thing for him,” she admonished. “He called you vile.”

The guy must harbor the age-old hang-up most demons had toward witches. She thought it silly. But some habits died hard. And she knew more than many witches who still avoided vampires because the longtooths possessed the ability to steal a witch’s power through bloodsexmagic—biting, and draining them of magic while they had sex. Ugh. Nothing sexy about that scenario whatsoever.

She had never dated a vampire and generally preferred human men. They were easy enough to figure out. Though she never got too serious. The family curse and all. While she’d never been directly responsible for a death, there had been that time she’d mixed magics and a windstorm had uprooted a tree and sent a branch straight through her lover’s heart. He’d hit her once, and she’d feared him every time he’d walked through her door. Had he got what he deserved? It wasn’t for her to judge, but certainly she hadn’t cried over his death.

What she wanted was a challenge, someone to seduce and stimulate not only her mind, but her body, as well.

“I don’t even know his name,” she whispered, then sighed again. Chasing the mysteriously sexy demon out of her head was proving impossible. Ah well, a little daydreaming never hurt anyone.

Nearby the octagon pond, Tamatha heard a splash. She saw two feet upend over the edge of the pond and a sailboat bobbled frantically. A child had fallen?

Heartbeats thundering, she reactively touched her middle fingers together to activate her water magic and whispered a controlling spell. A whoosh like a tidal wave curved toward the pond shore, spitting the kid back onto the pebbled ground. A mother shrieked and rushed for her soaked child.

And Tamatha exhaled with relief. “Whew.”

Chapter 4

Ed looked up from his laptop to see Inego and Glitch forcing a squirming, struggling—bound—woman into his office. A plastic grocery sack hung over her head, though the long silver-white hair that he recognized so well spilled out beyond her shoulders.

“What the—?” He marched up and pulled the bag from her head.

“You?” she gasped. Lifting her bound hands, the fingers of which having been completely wrapped up with thin white cording, she asked, “What in all the moons?”

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked Inego (of the twosome, the one who he suspected had more brains). “I asked you to bring me the most powerful witch in Paris.”

“She’s it, boss. We saw her save a boy in the park. Didn’t even have to twitch her nose to do it, either.”

“Did John verify it?”

“Yep. He picked her out before that happened. Said his witchy radar was going off the scale and told us to check her out.”

Ed stepped back from the witch and noticed she looked as surprised as he. Though that could have something to do with the ropes and the rough treatment she must have received when brought here. If John Malcolm had verified her power, then it was possible. He’d had no idea she was so powerful.

On the other hand, she had bound him with nothing more than a few words.

Well, well. This could get interesting. If not...uncomfortable.

“What are you up to?” she asked. “I thought you hated witches. Called us vile.”

Indeed he had. Not the best way to start a working relationship, but he could manage. “I needed to speak to you,” he said. Could he really do this? Did he need a witch? Especially one so distracting as this one?

“So you—you kidnapped me?”

“This is not a kidnapping.”

Though when she shook her bound hands between them and gave him an incredulous gape, he couldn’t deny it did look nefarious, if not downright cruel.

“Now you know what it feels like,” he said reactively. “To be bound.”

Her jaw dropped, stupefied. He couldn’t help a vainglorious smile. So he wasn’t keen on condescending to her sympathies. The witch had bound him. And it had hurt like hell.

To his men he said, “I didn’t tell you to tie her up. I just asked you to bring her to me.”

“She’s a witch, boss. We had to tie her up or she’d put a spell on us. Malcolm told us the marks on her fingers cast spells if she can use her hands.”

Ed considered that one and conceded with a nod. “True. Good call, men.”

“Oh, I am so out of here.” The witch backed away, bound hands beating the air with her words. “Most powerful? Maybe. Most pissed off? You better believe it.”

Glitch rushed to grab her by the arm and she struggled, kicking her high-heeled shoe and landing the pointed toe on his thigh. Yikes. That had to hurt. Glitch yowled and hobbled off, clutching his wound. Inego grabbed her other arm.

“Enough!” The minions glanced to Ed.

The witch pleaded with her thrust-up hands. “I can still throw magic with my hands bound. But I’ll be much more compelled to listen if you treat me with respect.”

Indeed. But could he trust her? She’d once already used witchcraft to soften his anger and make him kiss her. Her mouth was a pretty pale pink today. And those eyes. Had he ever gazed into such vivid green eyes? There were things in them. Mystery. Adventures. Worlds.

Hell. No. He wasn’t gazing.

“I’ll count to three,” the witch threatened. “Then I’m bringing out the big magic.”

“Boss?” Glitch asked on a worried wobble.

“What kind of minions are you?” Ed said to them. “You’re frightened of one little witch? You managed to get her here without taking harm.”

“I’m going to have a bruise,” Glitch whined and clutched his thigh.

“Where did I find you two?” Ed muttered, pacing before the threesome.

Right. He’d rescued the dastardly duo from exile to Daemonia after both had been caught with their proverbial fingers in the cookie jar. Working a V-hub and selling vampire blood to their fellow demons. They were two stupid lunks who had needed direction and a purpose. Which he was trying to give them.

And the best way to lead was by example.

Ed thrust out some minor magic in a black curl of smoke that melted the ropes bound about the witch’s hands. “My men should not have been so cruel. I apologize.”

“Yeah? Too little, too late, buster. This is nuts!” She turned and marched out of his office, the tight skirt she wore luring his gaze to the sensual wiggle beneath the pale green fabric. Yeah, so gazing was good. Real good.

Inego and Glitch cast him wondering stares, which blew his gaze off course.

“Idiots,” Ed hissed. He strode after the pissed-off witch. What was her name? “Tamatha!”

Instead of turning right to go down the hallway to the elevator, she’d unknowingly taken a left and now stood like a captive doe before the wall where his secretary normally sat. At least the secretary was spared this scene, though. She was out having a baby demon that could very likely be born with scales, thanks to her affair with a dragon shifter.

“I’m so sorry.” Ed walked up to her and tried to put his hands on her shoulders to calm her, but she slapped at his wrists and hands. “Tamatha, please, I want to talk to you.”

“They put a freakin’ plastic bag over my head!”

He managed to pin one of her shoulders against the wall and worked to wrangle her opposite wrist, to calm her, to make her listen to him. And to be prepared should she try to fling more magic his way.

“I could have suffocated!”

Indeed, he had best give more detailed instructions next time he sent his men after such a pretty, delicate creature who— “Ouch!”

Pressing his forehead to the wall beside her head, he rode out the pain of a direct hit from her pointy-toed shoe to his shin. Damn, those things were sharp! He was probably bleeding. He didn’t want to risk looking because he still had her in a loose but compliant hold.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not cruel. But you bring up my defensive instincts.”

When her hand stroked over his cheek and temple, a wave of strange desire shivered through his system.

“Tamatha,” he gasped. A lush tide of delicious warmth overtook his muscles and his body melted against hers. He could not...resist. “Oh, goodness and light.”

Bracketing her face with his hands, he kissed her like he’d never kissed a woman before. Sweetly. Reverently. With such a longing that it must have shown all over his skin in the shivers he felt riding the tattooed surface. Her breath spilled over his lips and entered his pores. Her aura of lemon perfume surrounded him with a sticky sweet allure.

He was falling, succumbing, slipping into a strange kind of submission...

Realizing he was once again kissing the witch, Ed abruptly broke the connection. “Ah hell.” He looked at his hands, still gently bracketing her face. And there, on her face, the glint in her eye as the curve of a smile tickled onto her perfect lips. “What did you do to me?”

“Me? You’re the one who keeps kissing me. I didn’t do a thing but get kidnapped and roughed up by your henchmen. And then you pressed me up against the wall and had your way with me.” She cast her glance aside. “Not that there was anything wrong with your way. Which is why I haven’t wielded magic against you. Yet.”

“I believe I should be thankful for that. Why is it every time I see you I want to...to...?”

“Hurt me?”

“I don’t hurt women. I just want to—” he made a motion to shove but curved his fingers away from touching her “—push you away. Witches are vile.”

“So you’ve said. Repeatedly. Great way to kill the mood, buddy.” She shoved his chest, but he didn’t step away from her.

“Yes, but if you are so repulsive, then why do I end up kissing you every time we meet?”

She tilted her head and tapped a finger on her lips. Those luscious, sweet, soft lips demanded more thorough attention. And so he would see to it they had it.

Ed again kissed her, this time pushing his hands through her hair and caressing the softness that spilled over her shoulders in waves of unnatural silver. Goddess hair, he thought. Not of this realm. He pressed his body along hers. To feel her, to take her all in...

“Ahem,” she muttered against his mouth, and he sensed her need to push him away, when all he wanted to do was get closer than close. Inside her. Intimately. Her gaze veered over his shoulder and to the door of his office.

Ed glanced around behind him. Glitch stood in the doorway, observing with a smirk and dancing gaze. The idiot didn’t need to say a thing.

What luck that the most powerful witch in Paris was also one who attracted him like no other and promised to give him dreams that would keep any sane man begging for more. She was a witch, but she wasn’t one of those nasty witches his mother had warned him about. She couldn’t be.

But then, that was the same thing he’d thought about Witch Number Two before she’d tried to enslave him.

Ed gripped Tamatha by the wrist and pulled her toward the office, but she planted her feet and tugged.

“We need to talk,” he said hastily.

“I’m not going in there with those creeps leering at me. A plastic bag,” she reiterated. “Seriously!”

Releasing his hold on the stubborn witch, Ed gestured toward the idiots. “Leave. Go do...that thing I needed you to do.”

“What thing, boss—?”

Inego shoved his partner out of the doorway. “You know, that thing. Sure, boss. We’re out of here.”

“There is no thing,” Glitch argued as they strolled down the hallway.

Exasperated by his employees’ incompetence, Ed pushed his hands over his hair, and then remembering his guest, he took a moment to vacillate on what he was about to do. Make nice. With a witch. Because he needed one.

First, he had to determine if he could trust her.

He gestured to Tamatha that she enter his office. “Please?”

With an impertinent lift of her chin, she strode through the doors, quickening her pace as she passed him and walking to the center of the black marble floor that stretched far too long to his desk. This office was too large and ostentatious, but he’d got the rental for a steal because a mass murder had taken place in it a few years ago. He had sensed the malefic vibrations in the air—and still did on occasion—and he’d had it smudged more than a few times, but that never seemed to clear the negative energies.

“I don’t know your name,” she said. “You know mine. Tamatha Bellerose.”

“Bellerose,” he repeated, but didn’t recognize the surname. “Pretty, like its owner. My name is Edamite. You can call me Ed.”

“Edamite? I’ve never heard that form of the name before. I would say ‘glad to meet you, Ed,’ but I’m not terribly thrilled about this situation.” She cast her gaze about the room, briefly noting the few items displayed on the wall. “Generally my dates are a bit less...kidnappy.”

She shivered and embraced herself. The blouse she wore was a sheer, filmy black thing that showed a glimpse of the black lace bra beneath. And on her arms, beneath the sheer black, he made out a tattoo, but couldn’t remark its design. Smaller symbols had been inked on the midsection of each of her fingers. Spell tats, no doubt. And there at her neck was a white ink symbol he recognized. A vampire ward. Smart witch.

He rubbed his forearm where beneath the shirt was the witch ward. It usually tingled when a witch was near. And it did now. But why hadn’t it when he’d run into her the other night?

“Cold?” He passed her by and walked to his desk, intent on maintaining his calm and not rushing over to steal her into his embrace and devour her again. What was up with that? He was not lusting over a witch. That way lay trouble.

“Something awful happened in this room,” she said, her gaze still taking the area in. “Have you smudged the place?”

“Half a dozen times. Never seems to chase away whatever morbid stuff remains. I’ve given up on trying.”

“I could do it for you and it would work. Whoever has smudged it previously wasn’t bleeding into the very pores of the stone beneath our feet. Earth magic is required. Murders,” she said suddenly and with knowing. “I don’t want to stay in this room much longer.”

“Okay, fine, Tamatha, but give me two minutes, please?”

“If that’s how long it will take for you to explain why you had me kidnapped, then...go.”

“It wasn’t a—” Ed surrendered the argument with an exhalation. “My men are assholes. I apologize for their ineptitude. To get to the point...” He spread out his hands before him. “I need a witch.”

He didn’t know if he could trust her yet. What was he saying? Why hadn’t he a plan? Damn, she was so gorgeous. He’d say anything to have another kiss.

Really?

“Well, well.” She lifted her chin and assumed a haughty pose, which was made all the more attractive by the tight skirt and slender gams and that curly goddess hair that Ed could still feel crushed between his fingers.

“Well, well, what?” he asked.

“I’m studying diabology and demonomancy. It so happens I need a demon.”

“You mean to study? To put under a microscope and observe?”

“Oh, not like that. Maybe a little. Textbooks and dusty old grimoires are excellent resources for learning, but I’m more of a hands-on kind of girl. I would love to have a demon to talk to and ask questions. Learn things.”

He smoothed a palm over his hair. She was annoying and she was appealing. And he wasn’t sure which side was going to win out, but she was the only witch he had right now. And apparently a powerful one. He wanted to play her carefully, lest he became one of those demons from his mother’s faery tales. They had never survived to the end of the story.

“I don’t do the bug-under-the-microscope thing,” he offered.

“You want a powerful witch? You gotta bargain, buddy.”

So that was the way of it? The magic he’d felt filling the atmosphere in the Montparnasse cemetery had been incredible. Immense. He needed dark magic to fight it, but more likely, light magic to win against it. And Tamatha looked like a witch of the Light.

“Are you a witch of the Light?”

She nodded. “Mostly.”

Well, she was honest. And her hair spilled like liquid silver over her shoulders. It was gorgeous— Ah! He had to focus.

“You said you are studying demonomancy? That’s controlling demons. How do I know you won’t try to control me? Er...again.”

“I’d never do such a thing. I’ve never summoned a demon, either. It’s wrong to exert your control over others.”

He lifted a brow at that one.

She shrugged. “Well, you know, I have to practice my spells. The binding was a reaction.”

“So you said. But it was an exertion of control.”

“Guilty. I do have a thing for keeping things orderly, which I’ve been told is also a means of control.” She glanced around the room. “I’d show you my OCD magic, but this place is spotless. Too cold.”

Yes, yes, so he didn’t do the decorating thing beyond the few magical items on the wall he displayed from the stash he’d acquired over the years.

“I don’t think I can trust you, witch.”

“You pronounce ‘witch’ as if it’s an oath or curse word.”

Now it was his turn to offer a shrug. “Your kind and mine have never been friends.”

“I promise you I won’t try to control you again, Ed.”

“Witch’s honor?”

She drew a cross over her heart, which gave him a shiver.

“You know what it means when I cross my heart?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Something bad, I’m sure.”

“When we witches cross our heart, it is the truest and most sealing bond to our word.”

That didn’t sound so awful. Rather noble, even. Hmm...

“It would mean a lot to me,” she said, “if you would agree to answer some questions and let me, well...”

“Study me?”

“Not under a microscope.”

Mercy, he didn’t want this alliance. All his rational instincts screamed—stay away from the witch! Yet the louder voice moaned in anticipation for one more kiss. Could he control her with seduction? Because he had to keep her under thumb to keep his risk low.

But, oh, the things on her he’d like to feel gliding beneath his thumbs.

“Fine,” he said. “So you agree to be the witch I need, if I agree to be the demon you need?”

She nodded. Her high-voltage smile beamed to match those world-filled eyes.

“You don’t even know why I need a witch,” he countered.

“I assume it’s to cast a spell. Do you need me to clean this office?”

“Uh...” He strolled the floor, walking slower as he passed beside her. She smelled like lemons hanging fresh in the tree, sweet yet spiked with a bite of sour that a man desired to lick purely for the tangy thrill of it.

How to ask for the magic he needed without sending her running? What witch would agree to work against her kind? He hadn’t enough information on Les Douze to know if she would be open to his needs. What were his needs, beyond to destroy some dead witches? If they really were witches.

He had to work up to that slowly. Convince her that she wanted to stop those witches, and not because a demon had asked her to. How to do that?

She tilted her head. A lift of her brow not only took him in, but also teased. And a crook of her finger and a lick of her lips delivered the coup de grâce. Yeah, seduction. The woman was a master at it. And she hadn’t to do anything more than quirk one of those luscious brows. He could kiss her again. Right now. Pull her to him by curling his hand around the back of her neck and bruising her mouth with his until she gasped for freedom.

The most powerful witch in Paris? He’d expected someone more...dark. And haggish, actually. Older, too. Although, he shouldn’t judge by appearance. Paranormals who lived centuries had a tendency to age so slowly one could never know if the sexy young vixen eyeing him was in her third or fourth decade, or perhaps her third or fourth century.

But he’d never get anywhere if all he did was make out with the woman. The way he could get her to help him was to keep it businesslike. Professional. And he had to check out her skills, make sure she was up to par.

“Right, the murders,” he muttered, grabbing the opportunity. “Can you cleanse this office?”

“That’s the reason you kidnapped me? To ask me to clean your office?”

He nodded. No sense arguing the kidnapping. It had gone down that way, and he wasn’t proud of it. “Like I said, my men can be indelicate.”

“Seems a rather dramatic effort for something so anticlimactic.”

He could give her a climax if that was what she wanted— Ah! No. He had to stay on point. Business, Ed, business.

“I do like to clean rooms,” she said. “But I’m not sure. It seems a little suspicious.”

Because it was. Kidnapping a witch just to wave around a smudging stick and chant a spell?

“Why such a powerful witch to do a cleansing?” she asked. “I mean, the room is tainted, but any witch could do this.”

“You yourself noted the previous efforts have been worthless. You must understand my need for someone with a bit more skill?”

She bristled proudly, tugging at the ends of her lush hair. On the side of her littlest finger was another tattoo. Words. Probably a spell. Ed didn’t try to read them. One never knew what horrors reciting an unknown spell could unleash upon his head.

“Ask me something,” he volleyed.

“What do you mean?”

“Something you want to know about demons. It’s a trade for your trust.”

“Oh.” She wiggled her shoulders. The excitement that she exuded was like a natural pheromone, so effortless and addictive. He breathed her in as if he were the lucky observer of an exotic flower who only put off her scent a few minutes a day before closing up. “Okay. Let’s see... I know you’re a corax demon. Can you shift to a raven form?”

“I shift to a conspiracy of ravens.”

“Oooo.” When she made that sound, she pursed her lips deliciously. Ed squeezed his hands together behind his back. “Can I see your horns?”

“No!”

“But those nubs at your temples. That’s where they come out?”

He nodded. They grew to full length when he was angry. Or sometimes when he was aroused. He couldn’t control the anger horns, but the other time, when he was having sex, was an option he employed if he wanted to heighten the experience. Because to have his horns touched? Oh, baby. Yet, sadly, he’d attempted it only once before. She’d run screaming. He’d learned his lesson about what to reveal about himself when having sex with a human woman.

She pointed to his gloved hands. “Why do you wear those? More horns?”

Actually, thorns. The thorns on his knuckles grew when he got angry, and they were deadly sharp, leaving a poison in his victim’s cuts that could kill. The half gloves were a safety precaution because he didn’t like to kill people. Not unless they deserved it.

“Forget it,” she said suddenly. “I have to leave this room. I’m not properly warded and this malefic aura is creeping me out.”

“Fine. Can you return later to cleanse it?”

“I can,” she said, walking backward toward the door. “If you promise we’ll talk afterward.”

“Research and a cleansing? It’s a date.”

“It is?”

“Uh, er...a business date. I mean, you know. Why else would I have you brought here?”

“Did you request me specifically or did those idiots grab any witch off the street?”

They had grabbed a witch John Malcolm had deemed most powerful. Lucky for him it had been the one witch he wouldn’t mind spending some time with.

“Does it matter? I’ve stated my need. You’ve agreed to meet that need, as I in turn will meet yours by answering your questions. We are in accord.”

“Sure.” She nodded and gestured toward the door behind her. “Can I leave now?”

“Of course. You’re not my prisoner.”

“Will I run into your henchmen on the way out?”

“No. I promise. And again, I apologize.”

“I’m not one to hold a grudge. I forgive you for your odd means to hiring a witch to clean this office. Thank you, Ed. I’ll return later. Ten?”

“Sounds fine. I’ll be here. Alone.”

She raised a curious brow.

“No henchman,” he reassured her.

With a nod and wink, she left him standing there, watching her retreat. That sexy swing of hips and the brush of her long hair across her elbows was like poetry. A raunchy poem with a lascivious plot.

When she had turned the corner toward the elevator, Ed let out a low whistle. “Now to win her trust,” he muttered. “And destroy some dead witches.”

Chapter 5

Tamatha fixed her hair in the mirror and touched up with a little pencil to her right brow. Her hair was naturally white with silver tones, but she liked to soften her darker brows with gray pencil. A smooth of powder across her forehead and a touch of pale pink rouge to her cheeks. She never wore lipstick. Just a little lip balm. Because what man wanted to kiss a woman with greasy red lips?

And she’d already got two—no, three—kisses from Ed. A man who fascinated her as much as he disturbed her. Because he had sent minions to kidnap her! But then he’d kissed her. And then he’d acted nervous and kind of shy, so she could hardly blame him for the rough stuff. She could certainly blame the minions. But not Ed. Right?

She, the most powerful witch in Paris? Hardly. Certainly there were many witches more powerful. While she had mastered all four elements, she was sadly lacking in the various -mancys and study of specific magics. Perhaps only a warlock or thousand-year-old witch might be so powerful. But if she had copped to the truth, he would have tossed her out in search of the real deal. And by all means, she wanted to work with him.

To learn about demons, of course.

It wouldn’t be because she found him handsome and was intrigued by his many tattoos and didn’t want to end what his hot kisses had only begun.

Maybe a little.

“I have a date with a demon,” she said as she spun into the bedroom to check her closet for an appropriate dress. Something sexy and yet it was a business date, so no lace and nothing too low cut. But always body-hugging.

“A date with a demon who kidnapped me,” she corrected herself, her enthusiasm wilting as her fingers slid over the red silk wiggle dress. “What are you doing, Tamatha?”

“I should ask the same.” Amberlee, a fellow witch friend, had stopped by an hour ago with some fresh rue and megabytes. Amberlee practiced tech magic. She wandered into the bedroom and plopped onto the end of the queen-size bed. Her bright red bob contrasted with her severely arched black brows, but both matched her red-and-black-striped dress. “You’re talking to yourself, mon amie. Or are you working a spell? Am I interrupting?”

“No. Did you get the memory installed on my laptop?”

“Yes. Now you have ten times as much space to ignore on that tech device that always has dust on it.”

“I’m not much for technology. I prefer paper and pen.”

“Then why the upgrade?”

“I do like to store the photos I take with my phone. The laptop serves as an excellent photo album. I’d like to photograph my grimoire someday and keep that safe.”

“Let me know when you do that. Tech magic tends to distort grimoire text. The two magics clash. You won’t know it until it’s too late and your valued grimoire has been completely erased. You’ll need a spell to properly store any information.”

“Good to know.”

Tamatha pulled out the purple velvet dress and held it before her. The fitted fabric would hug her slender frame and accentuate her cleavage with a sweetheart neckline. The black lace collar had skulls worked into the intricate stitching.

“I adore that one,” Amberlee said. “Sensual with a touch of goth. So you’ve seduction in mind?”

“You think it’s too sexy?”

“I’d do you wearing that dress.”

“Yes, well, you’d do me, him and it, so I won’t take that one personally. Who, or what, is your date tonight?”

“A werewolf from pack Conquerier. Sweet guy. Intense sexual appetite. He likes to howl.”

“Nummy.”

“Yeah, I like to howl right along with him. Especially when he hits the sweet spot with his fingers. What about your date?”

“It’s not really a date. I’m going to cleanse an office for a guy. A demon, actually.” She caught her friend’s nod of approval.

“Demons do it devilishly,” Amberlee said. “Or wait. Is this to do with your venture into diabology? Please tell me you don’t intend to simply study this guy.”

“Yes, study is exactly what I had in mind.” She pulled the dress off the hanger. “I have already performed a binding spell on him, and he didn’t hold that against me. Not too much. Maybe a little? I certainly won’t hold the kidnapping against him.”

“The—what? Slow down, Tamatha. I seem to be missing something here. Some demon kidnapped you? And now you’re going on a date with him?”

“Suffice, we had an interesting meeting. And tonight...” She slipped into some high black Louboutin heels with purple tulle bows on the toes. “After the business of cleansing murdered spirits is completed, I want to talk to him. Learn about him. This date is strictly for the purpose of furthering my demonic research.”

Amberlee put up a palm as she shook her head miserably. “You’re killing me, Smalls. You and your work ethic. Please say when such research is concluded then the dress will come off. Maybe show the demon a few of your tattoos?”

“Don’t be silly. I never have sex with a man on the first date. That’s just gauche.”

“What about Love Often?”

“I do. But you don’t expect me to love him after one rather curious meeting, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Besides, I don’t know anything about him beyond that he’s a corax demon—that means he can shift to ravens—and he’s an excellent kisser. And he did have me brought to him, so I can only assume he’s got no hang-ups about the demon-witch thing. Although he does seem to say the word witch with more vitriol than anyone should. Hmm...”

Amberlee rolled her eyes. “You and your adventurous heart. Be careful, Tamatha. And don’t forget your white light before you go.”

“Good call. I wasn’t wearing it when his henchmen kidnapped me this afternoon. Best to go prepared.”

“Henchmen?” Amberlee thrust up her palm. “I won’t ask. I know it’s wild, adventurous and your kind of weirdness. I’m headed home to pack. The wolf is bringing me to the Rhône Valley for the weekend. He owns a castle. If I’m lucky I’ll get to have sex with him fully shifted. Fur and fangs, baby!”

Tamatha did not disguise a shiver as her friend pranced out, en route for some kinky werewolf sex. Getting naked with a man shifted into animal shape was so not her scene. She’d never thought about sex with the familiar in his cat form. But she did like her men interesting.

“And, apparently, with horns,” she said to her reflection.

Unzipping the dress, she stepped into it and pulled it up. Purple velvet seduction? So maybe a little flirting could be allowed. After the business.

* * *

The air held the dry, sweet scent of sage and lavender long after Tamatha had finished the cleansing. She’d focused her energy toward the marble floor and walls where the vibrations of whatever vile act had occurred in this room lingered. Lives had been stolen. More than one. In hideous manner. She didn’t want to know the details. It wasn’t important. The spell captured those remnants, and with the use of her air magic, she sent them through the window and into the ether to dissipate.

Barefoot, she stood up from her kneeling position on the floor in the middle of the salt circle she’d poured earlier. Eyes still closed, she swept her hands over her head and down her body to clear away any negative energy that may have latched on to her. And then, drawing her hands up her body from toes to crown of head, she replaced that sensitive open aura with a white light.

When she opened her eyes, the demon stood three feet away from the line of salt, hands shoved in his black trouser pockets. This evening he wore a gray-striped business shirt without a tie, and the open collar revealed tattoos or sigils that climbed his neck. Sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing yet more black ink in various designs. Gave him a bit of a gangster vibe. Add to that the dark hair parted neatly at his right temple, slicked back with a bit of pomade, and his gray eyes that held a hopeful curiosity, and he took her breath away.

Oh, what another kiss might lure her to do. Like unbuttoning that shirt and running her palms over his chest, which was nicely muscled, because the shirt stretched over some well-honed pectorals.

Of course, that meant he was strong, and she still didn’t know him at all. Would he harm her? She had a tendency to overlook danger. She preferred to see the best in most; the worst only after they’d proved their lacking worth. She had slapped the binding spell on him, so he could still hold some residual anger.

Tamatha shivered, but the sudden rise of insecurity reminded her she’d been in the office alone with him for over an hour and he hadn’t harmed her. And she did wear the white light.

“It’s good,” she said.

“Cleansed?” he asked incredulously, his body leaning forward in expectation.

“Of course. Can’t you feel it?”

Straightening, he spread out his palms, half-covered by the gloves, and looked about the candlelit office. Tamatha had requested only the six white candles provide the lighting while she smudged. Unnatural light would have decreased the spell’s efficacy. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly.” She stepped out of the circle and slid her feet into the pumps.

In the circle remained the extinguished candle, a calcite wand, which aided in clearing negative energy, and her amethyst-hilted athame. She’d collect them before she left. They needed time to rest, and if any residual dark energy remained, the salt would leach it out.

“You’ll have to vacuum the salt later. Give it at least eight hours to allow any remaining dark energies to dissipate.”

“Me and salt...” He mocked a shudder.

“Ah, yes, demons and salt.”

“Not so pretty.”

Well, she wasn’t a maid, but she couldn’t stand for things to be out of order. But she also didn’t intend to stick around all night. He’d have to deal with cleanup duty on his own. “So is that wine for drinking?”

Ed grabbed the bottle from a marble-topped vanity by the wall and from the cupboard underneath pulled out two goblets. “It is. Thought I’d bring out my best Beaujolais if you managed to work your magic.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take information for the cleansing.” She accepted the goblet he handed her. She quickly sipped and averted her eyes from the dark tattoo that crept up under his ear. “No remaining evil in this room now. Unless, of course...”

“Unless I create the evil myself?” he volleyed at her. His eyes had a means of dancing with hers in a challenging yet sensual manner. A defiant smolder. Such a look stirred in her core and tightened her nipples.

She shrugged and resisted falling into that appealing challenge by taking another sip of wine.

“You know, not all demons are evil. We get a bad reputation from media and silly movies.”

“Oh, I know that. Your species is vast and varied. Though, the majority can tend to be nefarious and malefic. I sense you straddle the line between good and evil.”

He didn’t respond, and she followed him to the black leather tufted couch. She sat first, in the middle, and he moved over and sat three feet away from her. Humph. Yes, well, it wasn’t a date. Maybe?

“The same goes for we witches,” she said in an attempt to defend whatever it was about her he wasn’t willing to sit close to. “We’re not all vile. Very few of us are.”

“I’ve grown up listening to faery tales of your sort. You must allow me my ingrained childhood fears.”

“Really? A big strong demon like you feels faint around a little ole witch like me?”

“No one said anything about fainting. I just like to stay on alert when in the presence of...your sort.”

“Yikes. What does it take to win you over? I’ve cleansed your office. I’ve kissed back as good as you’ve given.”

He put up an inquisitive finger. “About those kisses.”

“What about them?” Pressing a palm into the black leather, she leaned a little closer. “Want to try it again?”

“I, uh...” He actually cringed from her, which gave her pause. She sat up straight and tugged at her skirt hem. Really? Those faery tales he’d been told as a child must have been some doozies. Probably featured the classic hag. Oh, how inaccurate they could be. Most of the time.

“You said you wanted to ask me things,” he offered as if tossing the suggestion out to deflect her sudden sway toward romance. “Ask away.”

“Awesome,” she said with little of the enthusiasm she should have.

The man had the weirdest ability to attract her while repelling at the same time. She shouldn’t take it personally. But when one was kissed so well and thoroughly, it was hard to not want more.

Perhaps since they were in his office he assumed a work attitude. Though it was late, she had no idea if a secretary lingered in an office down the hall or even if his henchmen were on the premises. Business it was, then.

Kicking off her shoes, she pulled up her legs and leaned an elbow on the back of the couch so she faced him. On the floor, her shoes righted and snapped into an orderly side-by-side position.

“What the hell?” the demon asked.

“My OCD magic. I like order.”

“And control, as you’ve mentioned. But really?”

“I can’t control it. I used to control it, but eventually the urge to straighten got so strong it took on a life of its own. It works in about a five-foot range.”

“So things snap into order as you walk by?”

She nodded.

“Weird.”

“Really?” Toggling the fragrant wine goblet in her hand, she asked, “Says the corax demon who can shift to raven form.”

“More than one raven—an entire conspiracy. And that’s not weird. It’s genetic.”

“It’s still weird. Does it hurt? How is it controlled?”

“It stings like a mother for two seconds and then I don’t feel anything but the freedom of flight. Multiple times over. When I’m in that form, all the ravens fly in sync and are controlled as one by me. But if I need one part of me to do something, I can break off and fly solo. It’s complicated. Of course, shifting takes a lot out of me. I don’t do it often. Driving usually gets me wherever I need to go.”

“Is that feather on your neck related to ravens?”

He stroked the tattoo, which appeared as soft as a feather and seemed to undulate under his finger as if touched by a breeze. “It is. It’s not a tattoo but a demonic sigil. Unlike a tattoo, the sigils simply appear on my skin. It’s not ink but darker pigmented skin cells. This feather is the top of the complete sigil that stretches the length of my spine. All corax demons sport something similar.”

“That’s fascinating.” She leaned forward but cautioned herself from reaching to touch him. Much as she wanted to nuzzle her nose against his neck and breathe him in, she would not go there. Not when she could sense his need to lean back as she neared him. “Were you born here in the mortal realm or did you come from Daemonia?”

“Mortal realm, born and bred. I have a certain distrust and dislike for those from Daemonia.”

“Why?”

“My opinions are not important to your research, are they? Let’s stick to facts and avoid the personal.” He tilted back the rest of his wine and got up to refill, and then he returned to the couch with the bottle and topped off hers. He remained a good distance from her. Which annoyed her. “Next question.”

Nothing personal? He was protective of himself. Perhaps she’d read too much into his incredible kisses. Way to anticipate a fabulous date night. Not.

Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted details more than she wanted kisses.

Yeah? Tell yourself another lie, Tamatha.

Shaking off the nuisance inner voice, she allowed her eyes to glide about the office to the marble walls and across the windows. The desk and wine cupboard were topped with the same black marble streaked through with silver mica. Above the vanity sat three objects on separate shelves, which had been lit by halogen beams before she’d requested only candlelight.

“Is that an alicorn?” she asked of the object on the center shelf. “If so, I’m stunned.”

“I buy and sell objects of magical nature. And yes, the three items are a genie in a bottle, an alicorn and a bit of angel dust on the third shelf.”

Wow. A genie in a bottle? He’d better not let that loose or he’d be responsible for a world of hurt. The angel dust intrigued. It was terribly expensive to buy at the Witch Bazaar, and she’d never the interest in testing its efficacy. Angel magic was the most powerful of all magics in the mortal realm. But if handled improperly? The witch may wish herself dead as opposed to experiencing the brutal backlash.

But the alicorn continued to draw her interest. Unfortunately, fascination was quickly overwhelmed by a sadness that tugged at her very core.

“There’s so much positive energy leaking from the alicorn now that I’ve cleansed the room.” Her heart shivered. “I could almost cry. Did a unicorn get slain?”

“I’m sure it was taken from a dead unicorn,” Ed offered.

She gasped at his utter lack of concern, or perhaps he simply hadn’t such knowledge. “Unicorns don’t die, Ed. They are immortal. Oh, that’s awful.” She sipped the wine, not wanting to consider the alicorn anymore.

“Back to the questions about me,” Ed said. She suspected it was an attempt to divert her from the alicorn. Good call. Maybe he was more attuned to her feelings than she suspected.

Very well. What else did she want to know, beyond that he could buy an item that had likely been stolen from a living being and had caused it much pain? Don’t think about it! Her eyes strayed to his desk, which harbored only a closed laptop. She had no idea what he did. Buying and selling magical objects? He employed henchmen, as well.

“What do you do, exactly?”

“That’s a faintly personal question.”

“I mean here. In this office. What’s your job? Is it to do with the collection on your wall? Is it related to you being a demon or is it a means to a living?”

He scruffed his fingers over the back of his head. “Let’s say I head an organization dedicated to keeping the peace.”

“That sounds entirely too heroic for—”

“For what? A demon?” He sighed and propped an ankle over his knee, rapping his fingers on the couch arm. “What are you wearing that keeps me at a distance from you? Is it a protection spell?”

“Huh? Oh. But I thought you...”

She thought he’d wanted to keep it all business. But instead he wanted to get closer? The man’s duality was aggravating. Of course, he hadn’t kissed her since she’d arrived. Unfortunately. And did his aggravation over not being able to get close to her have to do with his wanting to kiss her?

And why couldn’t he— Hmm... She hadn’t thought of that. “I always pull on a white light when I do a job. It protects me from any rogue elements or vengeful souls that I may not have control over.”

“And demons?”

“From most breeds, actually,” she said. “You can feel it?”

He tilted his head back on the couch, closed his eyes, then smiled. When he sat upright, he turned to her and touched her hand but retracted quickly as if bitten.

“Sorry,” she offered.

“You must not have had the white light on earlier today when we kissed.”

“I didn’t. Your thugs surprised me and I wasn’t calm enough to call it up.”

“Could I ask you to take it off now?”

The look he gave her melted her insides and made her question if he’d asked her to take off her white light or, instead, her clothing. Yes, please?

She swallowed softly. “Depends.”

“On my reason? I don’t expect you to trust me, Tamatha. Or to feel safe. But I have kissed you, and... I’d like to do it again. But we can’t do that unless I can sit closer to you and feel comfortable. It physically hurts me to be this close to you now. It’s like tiny electric sparks are emanating from your body.”

“Wow. I had no idea my white light was so powerful.” Then again. “Oh, but, you know. Most powerful witch in Paris, here. Of course it’s going to feel like that.”

Whew! Fast save. She had to be careful. He had provided her a reason to keep him in her life; best not shatter that reason.

“If I take it off, will you tell me about those tattoos on your fingers? If that’s not too personal a question.”

“Yes, and it’s a little personal, but some of the sigils on my skin are related to my genealogy.”

Satisfied, she exhaled and then swept a hand over her from head to toe and pronounced, “Exsolvo.” The white light slipped away.

“I felt that. Like prickles skittering over my skin.” He rubbed his forearms, then inhaled a deep breath. “Wow. Now I can smell your perfume. Lemons. I like that. It’s different.”

“I preserve my own lemons. My house always smells like a lemon orchard. It’s a scent my grandmother wore, though I only know that because my mom told me. Grandma Lysia died long before I was born. So, those tats on your fingers?”

“Demonic runes. They are tribal. The history of them goes back centuries, maybe even millennia. They designate me corax and my location and alliances. As well, they provide protection within the demon community and rank me to others.”

“That’s a lot of information from a few crossed lines. Are you in a denizen?”

“Always been a lone demon. I prefer it that way. I, uh, don’t play well with others.”

“You’re playing nicely enough with me.” His smile was a little shy and she liked that he was willing to relax now. “Tell me about those dark marks on your neck.”

He slid closer and pulled aside his collar to expose the design. Tamatha leaned forward only a little. Didn’t want to spook him. “These are demonic sigils that form on my body as I age,” he said. “It’s indicative of many demonic breeds but not all of them. Major life events imprint on my skin. And some are spells and wards.”

“Really? That’s so cool. I didn’t know demons could do that. So a life event? Like what?”

“Anything. Dangerous encounters. Life-changing events. The move to Paris from Italy a decade ago. Defeating Himself’s plans to send a dangerous demon into this realm. Growing into my horns. And I’ve already explained coming into my shifting abilities with the feather.”

She eyed the hematite nubs at his temples and then tapped his gloved knuckles. Ed pulled away.

“Does that hurt when I touch them? I touched the ones on your temples earlier this afternoon when you had me pressed against the wall.”

“I know you did. That touch was...” He blew out a breath laden with what she guessed was repressed lust. “Just take it easy, will you? Should you get cut, the thorns on my knuckles are capable of imbuing poison into your bloodstream, resulting in death. As for the horns on my temples...they are...sensitive.”

“Oh.” She’d take that sensitive as meaning sensually sensitive. Interesting. But she wanted to learn more about the thorns. They were a new bodily enhancement to her. “Poison? So you never take the gloves off?”

He clasped his hands together. “Only when I’m alone.”

“Bummer. Must make for some weird—” She almost said “sex.” Tamatha swallowed the last of her wine awkwardly. “So that mark on your lower neck looks like a scythe, actually.”

“It imprinted after I got my horns. Puberty stuff, like the feather. This here.” He traced his inner wrist, which featured a series of black wavy lines, almost as if a drunken bar code. “Was a fight with a werewolf. I won. And this one is a witch ward.” He tugged up his sleeve to reveal a small, solid black circle on the side of his forearm.

Tamatha smoothed her fingers over the ward. He didn’t flinch. Nor did she. “For or against witches?”

“It was supposed to be a sort of warning alarm should a witch come too close. Apparently, this one is bogus since I’m not feeling so much as a tingle from your touch. I’ll have words with Sayne next time I see the guy.”

“You had an ink witch tattoo you with a ward against witches? Doesn’t that sound a trifle ironic? I mean, did you really expect it to work? It came from a witch.”

He shrugged and a tiny smile softened his dark features. Compelled by his levity, Tamatha touched the corner of his mouth briefly. “I’m glad it doesn’t repel me,” she said.

“It has alerted me to other witches previously. I’m sure it’s because you are so strong. Of course, that makes little sense. Unless you’ve a ward to repel my witch ward?”

“It may be my white light.” Which she’d taken off. Hmm... That was weird, but not so startling she need worry about it. They were sitting here now. And he no longer seemed repelled by her presence.

And he leaned forward to kiss her, but stopped, their faces but a breath from one another. “I told myself I was going to keep it strictly business this evening.”

“Me, too.”

He considered it, frowned, but then nodded. “Right. So...” He tilted his head and nudged her nose with his. He smelled like leather and icy cedar. “I’ve always thought that nothing happens accidentally.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. There are no coincidences in this realm. I’m very sure our running into one another in the alley was destined. Though for what reason, we’ve yet to learn.”

“Destiny is a big concept. Serendipity sounds cooler.” He pressed his forehead to hers. A hint of wine on his breath compelled her closer and to close her eyes. “Demons and witches have a brutal history,” he said.

Tamatha nodded. Witches had often been demon conduits through the centuries, along with their faithful familiars. But she didn’t want to discuss their reasons for hating one another right now. Not when she could feel the pulse of his heart in the air and the cool hardness of his horn nub against her skin.

“This isn’t history, Ed. It’s right now. We’re writing our own pages.”

“I can get behind that. There is something I want to ask you,” he said, breaking their connection by a few breathless inches, “but after I do, you’ll not like me so much as you do at this moment. So I’m going to keep that one in my pocket for now.”

“I can deal. Later will always be there waiting. I’ve asked enough questions for one night. I want to set work aside.”

“No more business.” He exhaled. “This you-and-I thing is really odd for me—”

Enough small talk. If he continued on that tangent he’d talk himself out of so much fun. “Kiss me, Ed.”

She tilted up his chin with her forefinger and took the lead by kissing him. He responded nicely by not uttering another protesting word. Relaxing back against the couch, his hands spreading down her sides, he lured her on top of him. His hands glided down the purple velvet to her hips and she knelt between his legs because the skirt was too narrow for her to straddle him.

Lemon and cedar mingled as the two of them breathed in one another, tasting wine and anticipation, touching warmth, hair and the pulse beats of desire.

She spread her palm over his neck and felt a soft flutter. A demon sigil that marked him as corax. Cool. She hadn’t read anything about sigils in her research so far, but knew she’d passed her hands over a book or two that detailed demonic sigils. When she returned to the Archives she’d head straight for those books.

“Do all demons have markings like this? Or wait, you said it was only certain breeds?”

He tilted a frown up at her, but it quickly softened to a light wonder. “Witch, do you want to research me or kiss me?”

“Honestly? Both.” She teased a fingertip at the corner of her mouth. “But first I’d like you to stop calling me witch as if it were a bad thing.”

“Sorry, Tamatha of the pretty green eyes.” He clasped her hand and pulled it up to look at the side of her smallest finger. “Since we’re asking about skin markings, what’s this tattoo mean? Beatus?”

“Be-aye-tus.” She pronounced the word properly. “It’s Latin for ‘blessed be.’”

“Special. A witch offering a blessing to a demon? Wonders never cease.”

“I suppose I should be more cautious around you, but I can tell a lot about a person from his kiss.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re trustworthy.”

She didn’t miss his wince and then told herself she was being too trusting. She knew nothing about this man. But that was why she was there. To learn. And to learn one must set aside caution and dive in for the experience.

“So you must kiss a lot of people to have developed such a skill?” he proposed.

“I never kiss and tell.” She traced a finger down the feather on his neck and delighted when it fluttered under her touch. “I’d like to see them all.”

He waggled a finger at her. “That would involve removing clothing. And I suspect you’re not that easy.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She tugged down her skirt and started to sit, but then immediately turned to lean into him. Because she couldn’t not look into his eyes. “But kissing you is something I’d like to do more of.”

“You perplex me.” Grabbing the wine bottle and their empty goblets, he motioned she move aside so he could stand. “You say you want to ask me questions, do research,” he said and set the bottle and glasses on the vanity, “but your body says something entirely different.”

“What about you? The man who claims to be wary of witches and yet you were the one to ask me to take off my white light so you could get closer.”

“Touché. You don’t have a lot of fear, do you?”

“You keep assuming I should fear you. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

There was. She could tell in his pause. Must be that thing he said he’d wanted to ask her, but that would make her not like him. Should she ask him about it? Asking might bring whatever they’d started to a screeching halt. Must be the history he had with witches. Well, she’d have to change his mind and teach him that some witches were trustworthy.

Tamatha stood and placed a hand on her hip as she paced before the couch. “Let’s make a deal. We both want something from each other, yes? And whatever it is you want from me, I am going to assume it’s not a simple office cleansing.”

He nodded and swiped a palm over his mouth, and behind that swipe she saw his smoldering smirk. It was sexy, yet secretive, and the unspoken lust in his eyes made her heart thunder and parts of her simmer and grow wet. Oh, so wet.

“Whatever you want from me is a doozy,” she decided.

“On the scale of trivial to doozy, I’d say you are correct.”

“Must be dark and dangerous if you’re so nervous about it.”

“I’m not nervous. Nervous is not a word in my vocabulary. I am confident.”

“If a trifle cautious.”

“Caution is smart.”

“Like I said, I can read a person, and you are nervous. You can’t stand close to me. You keep touching your face, fidgeting. And you won’t look me in the eye.”

“And you are too perceptive. But I’ll let it go because you’re so pretty.”

She twirled a finger within her hair. “You think?”

He clasped his hands together before his mouth and considered it a moment. Were it not for the black markings, he would appear a businessman standing in his high-tech office. An organization that sought peace? Dare she believe such a ruse?

“I need a witch,” he finally said. “At least, I think I do. It’s to do with my mission to keep the peace.”

So it was a mission? That was...big. And magnanimous. Yet what reason could he have to be so secretive about it?

“I feel as though I need powerful magic to help rectify the situation.” And at that moment his phone rang. He put up a finger that he needed to take the call. “Yes,” he said to the caller. “Another? I’ll be right there.” He tucked the phone in his inner suit coat pocket. “I’m afraid I’ve an urgent appointment.”

“Oh.” She bent to gather her wand and athame from inside the salt circle. “Right. It’s late anyway.”

“After midnight.”

“Yep, and I have work in the morning.”

“Where do you work?”

“In the Council Archi—er...hmm.” Should she actually reveal that to him? She hadn’t been told to keep it a secret. It wasn’t as though she worked with secret stuff. And most paranormal species were aware of the overseeing Council.

“The Council Archives?” he guessed. “Sounds like a bunch of stuffy old books.”

“It is, but books are awesome. I could live in the stacks, reading everything about all things. I never want to leave. My boss usually has to remind me to go home.”

“There is something about librarians that arouses most men’s imaginations.”

“Is that so?” She stood from collecting her things, then swiped the toe of her shoe through the salt circle, effectively rendering it but a broken circle of salt and no longer a protective barrier. “I’ve never considered myself a librarian. Bookish, I guess. But I know how to party it up. I’m down with all that.”

Ed chuckled. He took her hand, and when she thought he would lead her to the door, instead he kissed the back of it. Clutching a candle and the knife to her chest, she sighed at the chivalrous move. But when he licked her skin, she flushed to her core. Goddess, what would that feel like on other places on her body? Like her breasts?

“Tasting me?” she tried lightly.

“We demons can tell a lot from taste,” he said. “That’s a freebie for your research.”

“It’s only a freebie if you explain yourself. What can you tell about me from tasting my skin?”

“Let’s talk on the way out, shall we? That call was urgent.” He led her down the hallway, and as they waited for the elevator, he again clasped her hand. “I can taste the wine in your blood and a salty remnant of the pommes frites you downed five or six hours earlier. Possibly on your way home from our less-than-stellar encounter here earlier.”

“There’s a Greek restaurant down the street from my apartment. I love their fries and chicken gyros. Tell me more.”

“Your blood pressure is slightly elevated.” He winked and smirked. “I’ll attribute that to being here with me, your hand in mine.”

She shrugged, acquiescing to that one.

“You are indeed very powerful because I could feel those electric vibrations tingle at my tongue, as if the white light, but I can differentiate and know it is your magic. You’ve been on this earth for about a century...” He tilted his head. “I can feel the ancient ways in you, but not so old that I sense you were around preautomobile.”

The doors opened and they stepped into the elevator.

“You’re very good,” Tamatha said. “I was born in the 1920s.”

“I assume you’ve taken a source?”

“A decade ago.”

When a witch wished to maintain her immortality, she had to consume the live, beating heart of a vampire once a century. Witches called them sources; vamps called them ash. Nasty work, but immortality was well worth the mess and vulgar taste.

“And you emanate light,” he finally said. “And joy and curiosity. But I didn’t have to lick you to learn that. Such lightness is written all over—” he spread his hands before her to take in her shape “—this gorgeous piece of work.” He exhaled. “I’ve that thing to get to.”

And she sensed he was giving her an escape from what could turn into an evening of debauchery. That neither of them would protest. Yet she wasn’t quite ready to dive in so quickly with this intriguing yet deeply mysterious man.

“Tomorrow night?” she asked as the elevator doors slid open. “Another research date?”

“I’m...hmm. Can I get back to you on that one?”

“Oh? Sure.” She’d expected a quick response that he’d love to see her again. Didn’t he want to drop the big question on her? So her shoulders dropped as she headed for the door. “I live in the 6th,” she said.

“I know. By the Luxembourg.”

She cast a look over her shoulder.

“I can smell the pear blossoms and roses from their gardens in your hair. It’s a unique blend indicative of the garden on the Left Bank. If I want to find you, I will. We demons retain scents far better than any werewolf can. You’re in me now, Tamatha.”

And he turned to stroll toward a door set near the elevator bay. Without a goodbye or an au revoir. As last night when he’d left her in the alleyway after that devastating kiss.

Tamatha stepped outside under the moonlight and stroked the back of her hand where he’d licked her. With a shiver, she decided to draw her white light back up.

Chapter 6

The last of a few black feathers dissipated as Ed’s body re-formed into human shape. He tilted his head to the left and right to stretch the kink in his neck, then shook his shoulders to shake out his clothes and return to normality. Or as normal as it got shifting from a conspiracy of ravens to demonic flesh and blood.

There were other terms for a group of ravens, such as an unkindness. He’d stick with conspiracy. As it was, he got enough bad press.

The phone call had come from Inego, whom he’d directed to post guards at the Montparnasse. There were no dead witches in the cemetery this time that he could see. Nor a dismembered demon corpse. But between two mausoleum fronts with rusted iron doors he did find a telling pile of ash. Obsidian flakes clued him in that one of his own had died there. Recently, for the red embers and lingering sulfur that tainted the air.

Yet the sickly smell of rot clinging to the air was not demonic. And the ward on his forearm tingled.

“Witches,” he muttered. “Again. How is it possible? Unless they are alive and just really ugly?”

No, he’d seen exposed bone on more than a few of them the night he’d witnessed Laurent’s murder. Whatever the creatures were, they could not be alive. And they seemed to have a death wish for demons.

Perhaps the situation was more urgent than he’d initially thought.

Kneeling before the ash, he held his palm flat over the pile without touching it. Rising warmth teased at his skin, as if the essence yet remained. He couldn’t get a read that would clue him in to what breed of demon it had been or if it had been male or female.

Scanning the surroundings, he wondered if the demon had been wandering about the cemetery—for what reason?—or if he or she had somehow been lured here. Because it was the same cemetery. It seemed too coincidental to be mere happenstance. Could dead witches do such a thing? Or was someone else luring hapless demons to a sure and terrible death?

The thought was disturbing. And he would find answers.

From a witch like Tamatha Bellerose? He wasn’t sold on her being the most powerful in Paris, but he wasn’t yet prepared to admit to that doubt. She seemed open-minded. She’d even suggested she was not into summoning and then commanding demons to her will. With hope, she would at least hear him out regarding this situation.

He should have been direct with her earlier. But after watching her smudge the office, the whole time he’d slid his eyes over her gorgeous figure and had thought thoughts he wouldn’t want anyone to know about. Lust had altered his initial goal. He’d been thankful for the phone call only because he was pretty sure he might have pushed her down on the couch and made out with her right there in the office.

And what was wrong with that?

“Everything,” he muttered. “She’s a witch.”

He stood, then strode quickly toward the south entrance and slipped through the unlocked gate. He spied Inego parked down the street in a black Audi and slid into the passenger side.

“I posted guards at the front gate like you asked, boss.”

Ed rubbed his lower lip, in thought. Would any future victims really enter through the front gate? If the victim was demon, he or she could enter by a number of means, through shifted shape or by simply leaping over the fence at any point in the periphery. More guards may be necessary.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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