Something About Witches (3 page)

As she went still, he turned. His eyes narrowed. “Ruby?”

She was pushing the roaring back, wasn’t sure he hadn’t said her name several times, because when she focused on him again, he was right up at the counter, his hand landing over her ice-cold one. “Ruby, what the hell—”

“I’ll think about it. Can’t give you an answer right now.” Though of course she already knew that was a lie, and now he probably did, too. Asmodeus made all the difference in the world.

“Maybe you’re right. This isn’t the right job for you.” He studied her face, stepped back. “My mistake.”

“Give me the number of the coven priestess. I’ll call and talk to her.” At his expression, she rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a ninny and give me the number. I was just daydreaming about how high you’d jump if I peppered your feet with my AK-47, that’s all.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that was what made you turn white as a sheet.” But he wrote down the number on the order pad on the counter, pushed it toward her. When he did, his fingers closed over hers, drew her eyes up to his. “Tell her when you’re coming so she can make arrangements for you. I’d wait and take you down there myself, but I’ve got a couple details to wrap up before I can head that way.”

“I’m crushed.” She arched a brow. “Here I thought we could do some shopping and get our hair done together.”

He gave her a narrow look. “I’ll be down there within the week.”

“No rush.”

“Yeah, there is. They need you to train them. But you need me for the rest. I’m not taking a chance of leaving you to face Asmodeus. That’s my job, if it happens.”

“My knight in shining Wranglers.”

Another one of those intent looks, and then he picked up his hat, put it back on his head. To her relief as well as dismay, he moved toward the door, tousling Theo’s ears as he passed the dog. “Keep your mistress safe, Theo.”

Glancing back, his hand on the doorknob, he raked his
gaze over her. “You still wear those Victoria’s Secret cotton bikinis. Still prefer pink?”

“You’re losing your touch,” she returned sweetly. “I’m wearing a pair of my boyfriend’s briefs. More comfortable than girl’s underwear, you know.”

He pursed his lips. “Hmm. You may be right about that. I’m not wearing any at all, and I couldn’t say where they got off to this morning.”

She tightened her jaw. “You’re not my boyfriend, Derek Stormwind. I’m long finished with you.”

He didn’t smile. “You may be finished with me, Ruby Night Divine, but I’m far from finished with you. See you in a week.”

A
FTER HE LEFT, SHE SLUMPED AGAINST THE COUNTER
, her knees buckling. Fortunately, she kept a stool back here to do computer work, and now she slid onto it, taking another sip of the soda with the potion he’d correctly detected on her breath. Hell, if she were a better liar, she wouldn’t need it, but that part was the truth. She’d always had a sucker’s face, showing every emotion. The Deception potion helped to keep those muscles locked down, which stopped the flickers of the gaze, flushing or nervous body movements that could give things away.

Every part of her was still tingling, her mouth wishing she’d taken that lick. Wishing she’d turned her head and met the kiss full-on, given him everything and taken just as much back. But that was the bitch of it. Some things you just couldn’t take back.

That one touch had brought so many memories to mind. The way he would lie curved behind her in her bed, his arm over her body, his hand clasped around her wrist as they slept. Sometimes she’d wake to feel his thumb tracing slow, sensual runes in her palm, along her pulse points. Protective runes, to keep her safe. She could close her hand and still
feel them there. Realizing she was doing it now, she opened her fingers, shaking off the feeling.

It didn’t work, Derek. Damn you.

That day they’d been at the beach, they’d seen two children playing in the waves, a brother and sister, probably no more than six and seven years old. The boy had his plastic sand shovel and was sweeping it through the water in dramatic, sword-swirling motion, sending out geysers of water toward his sister. She was ineffectually trying to use her spread-fingered hands to splash back at him. It was as if males came out of the womb with that warrior instinct, and women…. women learned too late.

Asmodeus.
Bringing the unloaded sniper rifle determinedly back to her shoulder, she lined up the sights with Derek’s retreating form, headed down Main Street. Never again. She’d never be too late again. No matter the cost.

D
EREK STARED MOODILY UP AT THE ANTEBELLUM PLANTATION
house. The driveway to reach it was a mile long, winding through oaks draped with Spanish moss, and punctuated by views of marshland and waterways, since the place used to be a rice plantation. Once near the house, the natural beauty gave way to sculpted gardens and statuary that ranged from sensual to whimsical. In the side yard was a large bronze that looked like children running along a fallen log, a dog chasing after them, while in the front, a large fountain poured water over a pair of naked alabaster lovers.

They were flush against each other, the man’s fingers buried in her hair, her head tilted, lips parted, while his mouth was on the tender spot beneath her ear, as if he were whispering his passion and promises to her. The water slid over the shallow valley of their backs, the smooth buttocks, inviting fantasy and touch. Derek remembered how it felt to trail his fingers along Ruby’s nape, down the delicate valley of her spine.

The carved oak sign welcomed the visitor to Sweet Dreams.
Like a freaking bed-and-breakfast, which was actually how the place was listed for tax purposes, but he’d bet money no one had ever come to this bordello to sleep, despite the heavy, languorous feel that lay over it like a fantastical mist.

The three-story Queen Anne structure had an elaborate roofline of cross gables and a block tower, a chaotic design he knew was helpful to box in and contain energy flow where needed. On top of the tower was a wind vane, a wrought iron depiction of a witch riding a broom. The fronds of the broom curled like the witch’s long streaming hair.

The wraparound porch on the first level matched the balcony on the second and third, with elaborate turned posts and lots of bead- and spindle work. The upper corners of the outdoor living space were embellished with brackets and delicate arches. A wide front door displayed original colored-block stained glass windows with a matching transom. On that small tower balcony, there was a similarly impressive entrance.

He suspected the tower was where Raina’s personal rooms were. The laws of gravity made it far easier to disseminate protection spells and other magics over the square footage of the large house from a higher point. And considering the only reason the succubi and incubi in residence didn’t fatally drain the clients was the moderating effect of Raina’s spells, her location in the house was vitally important to its feng shui.

His lip curled. The whole place suggested an escape into lush, unhurried fantasy, with a subtle undercurrent of erotic danger impossible to resist. A perfect reflection of the female who owned it.

“It’s about time you got here, you worthless piece of shit.”

It should have bugged him that he hadn’t sensed her approach from the side porch, but the list of things he was fucked-up about right now was at capacity. “Could have been here sooner if someone had told me where the hell she was.”

“Doesn’t work that way. Unfortunately friend loyalty trumps friend stupidity. Plus, I didn’t expect it to take a big bad sorcerer three years to find one broody little witch. Oh, let me guess.” Her sultry laugh had a sharp edge that could cut off a man’s balls. “The world was in peril half a dozen times and you just couldn’t pull yourself away.”

“Pretty much.” It was that, but something more as well, something that had him lifting his gaze and locking with Raina’s, showing her this dog wasn’t in the mood to have his chain yanked, unless she wanted to see teeth up close and personal.

He’d gone over it a hundred times since Ruby had sent him away. She’d always kept her soul open to him, so they could increase their intimacy, feed that energy, but the day she’d tossed him out of her life, she’d been cold, locked down. The woman he’d seen today was still battened like a ship in a gale. The only good thing about that was it had helped him rein in the million things he’d felt when he turned the knob and saw her standing behind the counter. Controlling his own reaction had helped him notice the big thing that
had
changed.

Ruby had always lacked the confidence to explore her magical potential on a deeper level. In contrast, the woman he’d seen today had enough energy hovering around her it was like watching Pandora’s box throw off sparks. Of course, given what had finally brought him back to her side, finding she’d embraced her potential was a bitter confirmation, not a surprise.

He’d
never
have left her under the circumstances in which he had in fact…. left her. For three years, it had bugged the hell out of him. He’d known something was terribly wrong. Any other time, he would have hung around, dragged the truth out of her. Instead, he’d convinced himself it was best to give her some space. He’d come back later when she’d settled down, figure it out then.

Unfortunately, it had taken months to get back, one thing
or another cropping up, and she hadn’t answered calls. Always the same damn answering service, and he didn’t carry a phone. Since their romantic relationship had begun, with one vital exception; they’d never been out of contact for more than a few weeks at a time. When he finally got back to the West Coast, he discovered she’d not only pulled up stakes; she’d locked down her essence, making herself virtually invisible. An effort that could only be targeted at him. A big
Leave Me the Hell Alone
.

He’d respected that. What the fuck? His need to find her would ebb and flow, and whenever it hit a big-time flow, he’d be interrupted by other inescapable responsibilities. Then, a couple months ago, he’d heard she was involved with someone.

Bullshit.
He knew her, down to blood, heart, soul and the dust of her bones. Yeah, he was possessive, but mere male territorialism hadn’t put the hot iron to his blood. The moment he heard the rumor about another guy, it was as if he were in a movie where the fake fog got sucked up by one of those high-powered fans, clearing everything out of his path. The aching need and pain, the loss of her in his life, clamped down on his heart like a bear trap. It was as if he’d been doped up all these months, and now he felt in full force the way he should have been feeling all along.

He’d taken a good hard look at what had happened and considered the unthinkable. A sorcerer guarded himself against spells cast by enemies. Long before McAfee and Norton existed, sorcerers had their own personal virus protection. But they had a similar limitation— they couldn’t anticipate everything. And an inside attack was the hardest to predict.

When he’d considered the possibility, done a soul sweep with the new configuration, something had burst inside his unconscious like a stretched chain link finally breaking. It had been the mother of all sucker punches, chilling him to the bone and pissing him off at once.

Ruby had used Dark soul magic to drive him away. That was why none of it had ever made sense. Not his reaction, not hers. For fuck’s sake, except for the requirements of the occasional Great Rite he’d had to do, where he channeled the Lord and a priestess channeled the Lady in a physical coupling to raise energy, he hadn’t been able to touch another woman for three years, even after Ruby made it clear she had no hold on him.

If anyone could confirm what Ruby had done, it would be the black soul in front of him now. Which was why he was here. He wanted answers.

“She should have fallen for a plumber,” Raina remarked. She fastened those exotic green-and-gold feline eyes on him. “Living with someone who gets called out to unstop someone’s toilet at two in the morning is a lot less lonely than being with a man who has to unstop the cosmic crapper all the time.”

“Lovely language. Quite the Southern belle.”

“Oh, I can talk dirty when it suits, Derek. You have no idea.” She propped a hip on the front porch rail, which undulated her body into a sinuous
S
of curves designed to make a man’s blood drain straight to his cock. Most men.

A long time ago, he’d made Ruby laugh when he suggested Raina sat around in flannels when nobody was around, eating ice cream and watching white-trash reality TV. The truth was she probably lounged on a divan in some dim room scented with money candles, her eyes glowing in the half darkness. Incense would curl around her as she meditated and spun webs to entrap men in her wiles, like a spider plotting against flies.

When she wasn’t doing that, she’d be busily tapping keys with her wicked long nails, figuring up her profits. If Hell ever needed a business manager, she was probably on Satan’s A-list. If he could handle her, which Derek doubted any male could.

Her hair was blue-black and fell to her hips in curls and
waves, with a few select streaks of red ochre at the temples. Since right now she wore a silk gold robe that clung to her curves, it was easy for a man to imagine that hair tangled in his fingers as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, allowing him to bury himself in that wet dream body. Her fingernails trailed along the rail like a man’s arm, drawing his gaze despite himself.