Captivating The Witch. Michele Hauf
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