Enchanting Absinthe (Sex with Strings, Book Four) (6 page)

Eventually he let exhaustion claim him, but the worry she’d be gone in the morning lingered. It would be nice not to wake up alone just once this century—two centuries if he included the nineteen hundreds.

It was light when he woke. He was on the wrong side of the hotel for sunlight to spill into the room, but he preferred it that way. Dawn was sometimes too hard to face after fresh blood. He sat up and saw Claire still sleeping. His bite on her neck was pink and unhealed. His cock hardened in expectation of another round of sex and biting, and he was tempted to lean over and kiss the mark he’d made, but he held himself in check.

Don’t get sucked in.

That he’d let a woman sleep over was odd enough. Getting entangled would do neither of them any favors. William eased out of bed and pulled his pajama pants out of a half-unpacked suitcase. That part of touring he wasn’t going to miss. Performing, both onstage and backstage, he would, but he knew it was time to disappear and let humans forget they existed.

That was much harder these days with modern technology. Once, he’d just moved to another city and taken a new identity. He traveled most of Europe that way. He glanced again at Claire. He could just wake her up. A grin curved his lips as he ran his palm over the length of his cock. There were advantages to having someone sleeping in his bed.

No. He shook his head and walked into the living area where he found the room service menu and ordered. He’d do the right thing, feed her and send her on her way before he was tempted to do anything else, even though letting her go felt like the wrong thing. He should be keeping her close. Damn, she’d gotten under his skin fast. It was the nails, she might be human, but she knew what to do. And she’d challenged him, dared him to do more than fuck her in the change room.

This was one of those times when he was glad he’d ignored his gut instinct and broken his rules. But that didn’t mean it was going to become a habit.

He turned around to go back to the bedroom and stopped. The flowers on the piano were different. His eyes narrowed and he stalked closer. They’d sprouted, roses now trailed over the piano, perfect white buds ready to open. He’d known there was magic in the air last night, but he didn’t have the power to do this—sure, he could keep cut flower alive for a few extra days, but he couldn’t make cut stems grow without soil and water—hell, he wasn’t sure he could’ve made a rose bush in the ground sprout like this.

Only a Shaman could do that. A sick feeling bloomed in his stomach. It swelled and punched upward. Claire. She was Shaman.

Whether she was full-blooded or one quarter, he didn’t care. She’d lied about what she was. He wiped his hand over his mouth as if he could remove the sweet taste of her blood from his tongue. But he couldn’t. He should’ve known. In the club he should’ve been able to feel what she was. He should’ve been able to taste the earth in her blood.

Fucking Shaman. Damn it. He’d been fooled.

His appetite for food and sex gone, he strode into the bedroom, determined to get an answer from the Shaman in his bed.

William pulled the sheets off her, not caring how fast she woke. She looked up at him and immediately knew something was wrong, her face paling and her eyes widening.

“Get up,” he ordered.

When she backed away, he reached out and grabbed her arm to haul her to her feet. He wasn’t going to hurt her, but he wanted to hear the truth from her lips before he turned her out.

He dragged her to the doorway so she could see the flowers.

“Oh.” Her body sagged as if his grip was all that was supporting her.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” He released her, unable to keep touching her. No wonder he’d felt magic in the air—it was hers. She’d used him for a power burn. Then just as he was getting used to that idea, he understood the rest. He’d been tricked. He took a step back from her. “You were never under the enchantment.”

She just looked at him.

“You faked it.” But still, he should’ve felt her magic in the club; he’d avoided Shamen after what they’d done to his mother. “You enchanted me.”

“No. I just suppressed my magic.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you.”

“So did a quarter of the club.” Male and female. “That didn’t give you the right to lure my attention to you.”

“Me? You’re the one using magic to seduce humans who don’t know any better. Do you know how lucky you are that no one has pinged you?”

“So what was this, payback, a comeuppance, a warning to stop? Are you working for the Council? Or Fendrake?”

“Neither. I told you the truth.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and he wished she wasn’t naked. It wasn’t easy to argue with a naked woman. “I wanted you. I didn’t know another way to get you to notice me.”

He had noticed her, but now it was all a lie. She’d had his number from the moment he’d stepped onstage. “Why fake it?” His voice was flat and cold as if he could ignore the anger and hurt.

“If I hadn’t, you would have realized I wasn’t human.”

“Did you not consider there was a reason I choose humans? Did you not stop to think I may not want to be caught up in Shamanic magic?”

“You’re a hypocrite.” She brushed past him and started pulling on last night’s clothes, which looked even skimpier in daylight.

“I have reasons,” he snarled. Which he wasn’t about to share with her.

“Yeah? Well, so did I. You got more than the fuck you wanted and so did I. We’re even.”

“You’re Shaman.” As he said it, he realized it sounded like an insult and he regretted it.

Claire turned, her face a mask devoid of any expression. “I am a full-blooded Shaman. Do you know how many rules I broke?” She pointed to the bite on her neck.

He had a rough idea. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining either. So quit bitching.”

“You tricked me. You could’ve told me what you were.” She’d walked in and taken what she wanted—just like his Shaman father.

“It shouldn’t matter what I am, what you are.”

“It does.”

“Obviously. You know, for someone who is over four centuries old, you still have a lot of issues.” She picked up a stem of flowers. “Thanks for the night.” She lifted her gaze and looked at him, disappointment shimmered in her brown eyes. “After watching you play for over ten years, I thought you were an amazing, talented person. I dreamed of being with you—yeah, the same as every other groupie—but I wish it had stayed a dream because you’re a dick.”

Then she spun and walked toward the door.

“Claire.”

She opened the door and didn’t look back.

“Claire!” He took two steps and the door closed. “Damn it.” He lashed out and sent the vase and flowers tumbling to the floor. The glass shattered. He stared at the mess unable to move.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He glanced back at the door. No, he wouldn’t chase after her. She was right, they’d both gotten what they wanted and they’d both lied to get it. And he had behaved like a dick.

Damn it.

He hadn’t wanted her to leave. He forced out a breath and let the old anger and hurt go. It was better this way. An ache in his chest opened like a void that couldn’t be filled. He picked up a stem of white roses and ran his finger over the tightly furled buds. The argument replayed in his head, every word and every look. She’d wanted him despite what he was and she was immune to his enchantment. And he’d let her leave.

He stood up and looked at the door again as if hoping she’d walk back in. But he knew that moment would never come. He’d let her walk out of his room and every cell in his body was screaming at how wrong that was. There was nothing he could do. He was leaving today. In three days’ time he’d be in Tokyo and he’d pick himself up a nice punk guy who wouldn’t give him any grief. The thought didn’t cheer him. He didn’t want someone else. He wanted Claire.

Chapter Four

Claire leaned over the bathroom sink as the nausea tried to climb out of her stomach. Nothing came up. She was sure it hadn’t been this bad last time, though twelve years could’ve faded the memory. She brushed her teeth and convinced herself she didn’t look as pale as she felt. The black suit didn’t help, but she was running out of clothes that fit. If she didn’t need the commission, she would have blown off the property viewing this morning. But the money was good and even she couldn’t make money grow on trees.

Her gaze stopped on the stem of white roses lying along the back edge of the vanity. Frozen in time. Two months and she still wouldn’t let them die. They were as perfect as they had been that morning.

She should bin them, burn them, anything to be rid of them. But she couldn’t. She wanted to remember her night with Absinthe, if not the morning. If he’d reached into her stomach and ripped out her guts, it would have hurt less. He hated Shamen, even if he was part one himself. She didn’t understand. Didn’t want to. It had been bad enough fronting up the Council and telling them she was already pregnant.

It hadn’t gone well. They’d wanted her to name the father, she’d refused. She couldn’t name the father because she didn’t know his name. Despite the bitterness of the argument, she’d have liked the chance to leave things less awful. He was the father of her child, after all. And despite everything she’d said to him, just hearing one of Lucinda’s Lover’s songs on the radio made her cry—but she was blaming that on the hormones.

The dreams she had about him couldn’t be blamed on anything. Her body craved him. She’d wake up tangled in the sheets, the long healed bite mark throbbing and her blood hot. After the first couple, she’d realized why. When she’d used magic to assist with making the baby, she’d created a bond between them. No doubt when she was getting hot and sweaty, so was he. The idea that he was screwing someone in the back of a club made her sick with jealousy. It shouldn’t.

He didn’t owe her anything and meant nothing to her. But it was lies, all lies. Otherwise the roses wouldn’t be cluttering up her bathroom vanity.

Her fingertips whitened as she pressed them against the counter. Claire closed her eyes and felt along the connection that bound her to Absinthe. Every morning she’d thought about cutting it, but she wasn’t sure how. It wasn’t just joined to her, it was part of the baby too and she wasn’t doing anything to put the child at risk.

Part of her hoped the baby would have Absinthe’s green eyes. She rested her hand over her stomach. She’d tried really hard not to read the band’s updates on social media or follow the reviews. But the truth was that even if she did see him again, she didn’t know what she’d say. And she didn’t know how to tell him he was going to be a father and she’d used magic to conceive. He wouldn’t take that well. Would he even want to know, since his child would be Shaman? Or would that be another reason to sneer and rail at her? She sighed and hung her head, but couldn’t regret what she’d done. The baby the Council demanded, but done her way.

She opened her third eye, a lashless match to her other eyes, and touched the magical bond. It vibrated with life and was getting stronger without her doing anything. Did he feel it? Did he care? Had he paused for one moment to think of her?

Probably not. The show must go on and all of that. She tugged on her suit and smoothed her hair again, closing her third eye and concealing it behind her natural dark-blonde bangs. Then she forced a smile, nodded to herself and grabbed her handbag, ready to sell a house to Mr. Black.

* * * * *

William strode past the park, knowing no one would look at him twice. The big advantage of performing half naked and with lots of eyeliner was that most people didn’t recognize him on the street bundled up in a jacket. His jaw worked as he walked. The last time he’d been in Sydney something had gone horribly wrong. Since then he hadn’t been able to work up an enchantment to save himself.

He hadn’t had sex in two months. His hand didn’t count.

It had taken that long to track her down and have a long enough break to fly back to Australia. Tansy Claire Winters had really done a number on him and the closer he got to her, the more appealing it became to let her do it again.

He’d been angry, hurt, confused and vengeful—and that was just after the first show when he’d realized what had happened and had gotten very drunk instead of banging some groupie. It had been Owen who’d told him to go back and find her and Katya who’d helped. His lips twisted. Owen was trying to see him settled. Ha, the bastard.

But with the other three guys happy in the arms of the same person every night, he was beginning to feel as though he was missing out. Right up until he remembered what had gone wrong the first two times.

Except Claire was immune—he couldn’t think of her as Tansy, it didn’t suit her, even if that was her Shaman name—he couldn’t break her because she was everything he hated. And he was pretty sure the Shamanic Council would be less than impressed with one of their precious females hooking up with a Vampire. Even if he was half Shaman.

It had taken a month to realize it wasn’t about his missing magic, he was just missing Claire. She’d worked out what he was and hadn’t cared and he’d thrown it back at her like a petulant child.

Then there were the dreams.

He might not be getting laid after shows while he was awake, but she was in his head every night. And in the morning he woke with a sense of loss he couldn’t explain. It was affecting his performance. Not that it mattered. One more gig, then the end would be announced.

Then it was all over, no more Lucinda’s Lover, and he could do whatever he wanted. If only he knew what that was. After four hundred years or so, he’d done what he wanted to do. Traveled, studied, had his fifteen minutes of fame more than once. The one thing he wanted had eluded him; people wanted him because of who they thought he was. He checked his watch. He was late. He had no idea what he was going to say and no idea if she’d even speak to him when she realized it was him.

If nothing else, he wanted his magic back. Maybe if he told himself enough times that was all he wanted he wouldn’t be disappointed if she refused to have anything to do with him. He turned the corner and saw the wall that surrounded the house he’d agreed to view. In front was a blonde-haired woman in a black suit. His step faltered. Blonde? She turned and he saw her profile. It was Claire, looking far more respectable than the last time he’d seen her.

The aching loss immediately bloomed into happiness that had no place in his heart. He had nothing to be happy about. He had to grovel up to a Shaman just to get his magic back.

To get her back
.

Claire had been outside the luxury house for ten minutes. In front of the Winters’ Real Estate sign, the family business. She checked her watch again. Five more minutes.

When she looked up, a man in dark jeans and a black coat that looked as if it belonged on a Jane Austen movie set strode toward the building. Black sunglasses hid his eyes even though it was overcast. Her heart skipped and fell over itself in confusion. It was him. She was sure of it. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know who it was. There was something in the way he moved.

Did she want to see him or not? Was it really Absinthe? Surely not, they were still touring. It was her imagination wanting to see him. The hollowness that had been part of her vanished. A bout of nausea took its place and swelled in her stomach. She swallowed hard and forced a smile that grew beyond cool professionalism.

He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “Claire Winters.”

The sound of her name was enough to confirm it. She took his hand and the familiar calluses from years of playing violin grazed her skin. Her blood sizzled at the contact and she wanted more than a handshake. She wanted to put her arms around him and say how much she’d missed him, but one night didn’t exactly qualify as a relationship and she really had no right to make any claims on him.

The bond between them was an awkward side effect. Had he realized their magic had joined? She drew in a breath of cold air and reminded herself it was Absinthe who’d kicked her out because she was Shaman.

Claire forced out the frozen air that hurt her lungs. “Mr. Black.”

Her hand mechanically released his, but her fingers tingled. Her flesh hadn’t forgotten his touch and her blood hadn’t forgotten his bite. She wanted to sink into the ecstasy again, but it wouldn’t be the same with any Vamp, only him and only because he had magic that fed on hers and amplified everything.

“William, please.” He took of his sunglasses and carefully placed them in a pocket. His lips held no trace of a smile, and his eyes were hard polished green. This was not a reunion. This was business.

Walking to the front door gave her a chance to quell the impulses that raced through her body. Two months was a long time for a Shaman to be alone and her body knew him, wanted him. Her magic craved his; it was already reaching out, thickening the bond with every breath. She kept her eyes in front and her teeth locked together, acutely aware of how close he was standing.

Treat him like any other purchaser.

The silence started asking its own questions, in harmony with her body’s demands. Without looking at him, Claire asked the first innocuous question that came to mind.

“Is William Black your real name?”

“No. I haven’t used that in over four hundred years.”

She unlocked the house. If she sold it, it would be her first big sale. Her parents had offered her this one. It was their way of making her prove herself and binding her into the family business. Her father would be furious if he knew she’d been with a Vampire. He wasn’t happy she’d defied the Council, Winters was a respected Shaman name, but she was beyond caring.

As if money and respect could compensate for what the Council demanded. While she understood the reasons and knew that without the ruling the Shamanic bloodline would vanish and become extinct, it was unfair.

She had looked into why the Council had banned unions with Vampires. There had been some massacre in Italy a few hundred years ago after a Shaman had raped a Vampire. There’d been retaliation from the Vampires and more than a dozen Shamen had been killed, wiping out the entire Fiorelli bloodline. Her gaze slid to Absinthe. His dark hair, green eyes and olive skin. He hated Shamen because he’d been there. She was sure of it, but she didn’t know how to ask what involvement he’d had. Not that it would change anything.

Without looking at him, she walked around listing the features, the way she’d done countless times before. Absinthe followed but didn’t look at the house. The air around her warmed. He was watching her the way a leopard might watch its prey before pouncing and breaking its neck.

She opened up the balcony and breathed in cold air that didn’t smell like him. That didn’t clog her senses and make her want him. It was more than simple lust pulsing through her, she needed him the way plants craved water and sunlight. Without him, she’d wither and die. It was something to do with the bond. It had been magic beyond her ability, but it had worked. Maybe it had worked too well. The breeze cooled her skin and allowed reason to break through.

She had to know why he’d come back. She turned and leaned against the railing as Absinthe, William, she corrected herself, stepped outside.

“Are you really here for real estate?”

“Of course.”

“There are hundreds of other agents and houses.”

“It had to be you.” He sang it. “It had to be you, Claire.” He pulled her to him.

The heat invaded her blood.

Absinthe whispered as he caressed the back of her neck. “I’ve thought of no one since. Been with no one since.” He kissed the corner of her lips. “Not used magic since.”

He kissed her fully, and her traitorous lips responded, seeking more of him. Her tongue ignored her brain’s warning that this would only pour energy into the connection.

He drew back, leaving her gasping, and looked into her eyes. “Do you know why, Claire?”

She shook her head, not knowing where he was going, only that he wasn’t going to say what she wanted to hear.

“Because it is gone. Bonnie will not sing. I play by memory only, no magic forms.”

He ran the back of his fingers down the side of her neck, the side he’d bitten. Did he remember? “You took it. I want it back.”

“I took nothing. Do you think I sucked it out your cock?”

“That’s exactly what I think. You came to me for a power boost and you got more than you bargained for.”

He didn’t know how true his words were. The truth rested on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t want to tell him out of anger or to make him suffer. “I can’t take magic.”

His eyes narrowed. She saw in his face that this was hurting him and confusing him. He’d never had any magical training. He acted on instinct and desire and it had gotten him this far. She sighed. She didn’t want to fight with him. She hadn’t dreamed of him for months only to get a second chance and destroy it. Was this really a second chance?

He let her go and stalked to the other side of the balcony, ignoring the sweeping view of Sydney.

“Then explain why I can’t dig you out of my flesh.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What spell have you laid on me that I can’t stop thinking of you? Was it payback for all the women I’ve enchanted? I never forced them.”