by Lora Leigh
s.
A small moan signaled her yielding and he took advantage of it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in an unbridled claiming.
Desire nearly overrode restraint as she responded, twining her tongue with his, rubbing. Meeting thrust for thrust in a challenge that could only end one way, with his cock deep in her body, stretching her, filling her in shared pleasure and the release of seed.
The air around them shimmered. The will keeping him human in appearance threatened to give way in the spread of wings and radiance.
Only a small sliver of rational thought kept him from doing it. There were too many people present on the street and no way to strip the memory of what they’d seen from all of their minds, when leaving it risked that one of his kind would stumble upon the image and know of Sajia.
It was agony to end the kiss. Addai managed it only by telling himself that soon she’d be home, naked in the place he’d had built for them.
She would know the truth of what she was to him then. Wife. Mate.
His in every way.
Only his.
“You want proof,” he said, forced to pragmatism by the presence of so many witnesses. Returning to her earlier question so they could get done with this business of looking for her missing charge rather than waste time doing battle over it. “Ask me something about the Tucci, something only a human well acquainted with them would know.”
“Name the youngest, and the most recently transformed vampire of the Tucci line.”
Addai laughed. “Ah, a trick question given the majority of scions die during their transformation and a great number of those passed off as Tucci descendants are favored humans with no genetic link. To hedge my bets I’ll give you three names to prove I know the different ways your question might be answered. Demas is the most recent addition to the Tucci family, though he is not a true descendant regardless of claims to the contrary. Euan is related by blood and the youngest if measured in total years of existence, while Ilario, who survived the change five years ago, is older chronologically but the most recently transformed vampire bearing Tucci genes. Satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then let’s be on our way. What did you intend after leaving here?”
“To go to Oakland. That’s where I believe Corinne is. If I can find out who made the token hiding her from the Tuccis, it might lead me to her. The clerk suggested I visit the Wainwright witches for answers. They’re my first stop.”
“Excellent,” Addai said, pleasure purring through him at the mention of an ally powerful enough to speed this nuisance business of a missing vampire scion to its conclusion.
Sajia escaped Addai’s arms and hurried toward the car she’d taken from the Tucci estate, and Mario, the driver who was both friend and family member. With each step she told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted or delayed. But even as she hastened to put as much distance as possible between herself and Addai, traitorous heat curled through her with the remembered imprint of his body to hers and the intensity of the desire that had poured into her with his touch.
Mario stood next to the back door, waiting to open it for her. He was stiffly formal in his uniform, the lines of his face smooth in an attempt to avoid any expression, though she saw the worry in his eyes. Guessed he recognized Addai and wanted to warn her against involvement with him—not just for her sake, but for all of theirs.
If not for Addai, she would have opened the door for herself and climbed into the front seat. Mario’s sister was married to one of her cousins, and expecting a child.
Sajia got into the back, Addai sliding in next to her, crowding her, making it difficult to think about anything else but him. Any lingering doubt about his belonging to the Tuccis was banished by how quickly Mario obeyed Addai’s command, delivering them to the area set aside for the gifted then departing afterward rather than wait.
At first sight of the witches’ home Sajia nearly balked at going any farther. It sat squat and dark, windows glistening as the sunlight struck them, like malevolent eyes looking out on the world. The hair rose on her arms and neck, and she wondered if she’d feel the same nearly unbearable sensations that she had experienced when she entered the occult shop.
Her mouth went dry. The clerk’s words about the cost of dealing with the witches whispered through her mind in ominous warning.
Looking at their house, the sigil-inscribed doorway with its gargoyle-head knocker, the wrought iron fence with its etched warnings, she could well believe anything to be found here entailed a great deal of peril. Danger not just in the form of death, but to the soul.
She glanced at the man next to her. Addai. His name resonated through her in a way that made no sense, as if some part of her recognized him and was determined to have him, regardless of the turmoil, the uncertainty caused by Corinne’s disappearance.
A shiver slid through Sajia, and it had nothing to do with the prospect of entering a place where magic was practiced. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her shirt, and her channel clenched in hungry need.
She was no virgin, but she’d never had a lover like him. A man who would make the most physically attractive of the vampires appear plain, and the most powerful of them seem less than equal.
Confidence poured off Addai along with waves of heated sensuality. It seemed inconceivable that another vampire family, especially the Tassone, hadn’t claimed him first with promises of immense power and wealth and immortality.
She shied away from thinking about him risking the transition and not surviving it. He turned then, sensing her eyes on him. His smile sent her heart tripping. His gaze as it moved over her face in slow appreciation then downward to her breasts, had her struggling to breathe normally.
He laughed, a husky erotic sound that wound its way through her. Leaning in, he said, “There is nothing about you that escapes my notice. It pleases me to know you are as aroused in my presence as I am in yours.”
Sajia forced her attention back to the witches’ house, angry at herself for being distracted by him, for thinking about anything other than finding Corinne. For all she knew Addai had been sent to test both her resolve and her loyalty to her charge, to report back how diligently she carried out her responsibility, perhaps even to suggest to what extent she should suffer for her failures.
She took a step forward, determined to succeed. Closed her mind to worries about what the witches might ask in return for their aid.
Addai’s hand curled possessively around her upper arm. “No harm will come to you here,” he said, swinging open the gate and ushering her through the opening.
Stepping into the witches’ territory was like pushing through an unseen curtain of gossamer. It left the impression of clinging, invisible strands and made Sajia want to brush herself off.
At the door, Addai lifted the knocker, a brass ring held in the mouth of a gargoyle. Only a moment passed before his summons was answered by a handsome woman with a streak of silver along the part of black hair.
“Addai,” the witch said, and Sajia felt a surge of hope and relief. She wondered then if he’d been sent because The Master guessed this search would ultimately involve the Wainwright witches, and saved face by sending aid without the others knowing of it, since she had no power to negotiate on behalf of the Tuccis.
“I’m sure our appearance here is no surprise, Annalise,” Addai said, pitching his voice to hold a warning the witch couldn’t fail to hear in her mind and feel in her soul. Whatever power she held here on Earth, she was still human, and he, a being whose reach extended into the spiritlands. He’d played his part toward the return of the Djinn and the battle for control of this world that loomed, and would continue to play it, but there would be no interference, no further payment, not where Sajia was concerned.
He had no intention of allowing either witches or Djinn to draw Sajia into their web of intrigue and destiny. He was her destiny. She needed no other.
The witch showed no signs of fear.
He didn’t expect it.
“This way,” Annalise said, turning and preceding them down the hallway. “You are correct. The matriarch anticipated your visit. It is fortuitous you came here sooner rather than later.”
Sajia’s curiosity brushed against Addai’s senses. And though this delay irritated him, it wasn’t without its compensations. He found himself enjoying the heated glances she cast in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking, savoring the build of heat and anticipation, the exquisite agony of being near her but not yet inside her.
The matriarch waited in the parlor, a shrunken hull of flesh and bones dressed in black. An abomination of spirit that had him fighting the urge to call his sword even knowing that delivering physical death would free neither the Djinn nor the human soul now entangled and tethered to this life in a single frail body.
He guided Sajia to a small couch across from the matriarch. Filmy, opaque eyes settled on them as they sat, sightless from cataracts, though the witch hadn’t needed them to see in a long time.
“What do you know of Sajia’s missing charge?” he asked.
The witch’s attention shifted to Sajia. “So the rumors of the missing Tucci scion are true.”
“Yes,” Sajia answered. “Corinne was last seen getting on a boat. The fisherman piloting it brought her to Oakland after first giving her a charm capable of hiding her trail from The Master. But the man had no memory of who hired him or what happened afterward.”
“And now he is dead, drained of information and blood,” the matriarch said matter-of-factly. “Beyond your reach unless you ask the shamaness Aisling to bargain in the ghostlands. Though someone capable of creating such a token, and leaving no memory of themselves, probably has allies in the spiritlands and the ability to ensure nothing useful would be learned from the fisherman.”
“Do you know who would be capable of crafting such a spell and attaching it to a token?” Sajia asked.
“Besides those of my family? Yes. Maliq. He makes his home in the red zone and is known for his willingness to work even the darkest of magic if his price is met.”
The white-moon eyes returned to Addai, craterless orbs bringing a sense of foreboding. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn Maliq created the token, but if you’re successful in finding him, I think it’s likely you’ll discover he’s the pawn of another. I’ve heard your brother has turned his attention to the vampires and amuses himself by trying to set one family against another.”
Every muscle in Addai’s body went taut at the mention of his brother. He had scores of them, some allies and some enemies. But like a bored human schoolboy left alone on the playground and desperate to draw a favored companion back, only one brother passed his time with games in the way the matriarch alluded to.
Caphriel. Angel of the final apocalypse, as he himself had once been. Sharing purpose though their ways of delivering it differed, sharing a name that regardless of translation was always the same: Death.
Addai rose to his feet in a fluid movement of suppressed violence. Resolve pounded through him with each heartbeat, beginning and ending with one word. Sajia. With one thought. Take her to the chalet and keep her there, away from games involving vampires and safe from discovery by Caphriel.
He pulled Sajia from the couch, arms locking her to him.
She struggled, pushing and squirming, but against his strength she had no chance of escape.
“Cast a circle,” he told the matriarch. “Let one of the others engage Caphriel if this Tucci scion is of any importance. Sajia’s involvement with vampires is ended.”
A word from the old witch and a circle flared into existence, a writhing ring of power that would mask the unleashing of his own.
Addai relaxed his will and all semblance of being human fell away.
White wings spread out behind him, glorious light shimmering and bent into a physical form.
He enfolded Sajia in them, a brush of feathers against cloth and skin. And with a thought, he took her home.
THREE
Shocked disbelief held Sajia motionless. Her mind argued against the reality of Addai being an angel, a creature of myth and imagination, of his taking her from the witches’ house between one heartbeat and the next. She trembled, imprisoned and unresisting in steely arms and feathered wings until his last words, and the witch’s, arrowed their way into her consciousness, slicing through all other emotion and bringing with them a terrible fear, not just at the fate awaiting her family if she abandoned her oath, but that Corinne might be in danger instead of hiding.
Sajia struggled, pushing against Addai’s now-bare chest and trying desperately to get her hands free so she could grasp her knives.
His lips against her hair, he held her easily, as if her fight to get free barely registered and required little of his strength to subdue. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Then let me go,” she said, the words a repeat of what she’d told him in the occult shop.
His laugh was dark, possessive. “Never. But I will free you to look at your new home.”
She chilled as soft feathers fell away and he stepped back, leaving her standing in cool air and elegant splendor, in a room housing treasures older than any she’d seen in the Tucci estate.
Floor-to-ceiling windows defied the elements, daring them to rail against a structure that shouldn’t exist. Allowing for a view that drew her forward with its majesty, its harsh testament to the power of nature, snow-covered mountains and the near desert at their feet.
The sight made her breath catch, not just at the beauty but at how far they must be from San Francisco. “Where are we?”
“In the Sierras.”
Panic seized her. It was a fist around her heart that squeezed mercilessly, spearing pain through her chest and making her breathing erratic. “Take me back.”
“No.”
He prowled forward, a sensual menace reflected in the windows. She pulled her knives then, whirling to meet him.
“Why?” she asked, the question meant to encompass the entirety of his actions.
“Because you belong to me.”
It was said with complete belief. And though it galled her to consider herself property that could be passed on to another, she denied his claim. “The Master didn’t give me to you. He wouldn’t as long as Corinne is missing.”
Addai’s smile held the promise of death. “Think of any other male as your master and I will slay him.”
He lifted his hand and it was as if a tear appeared in reality, a sheath of air and light from which he drew a sword.
Cold menace radiated from both man and blade. In reaction her fists tightened around the hilts of her knives as she prepared to duck and lunge.
His smile became a snarl. “Do not fear that I will use my sword on you, Sajia. I would die before I let any harm come to you.”
His voice rang with truth, stunning her. Confusing her even as an insidious warmth spiraled through her. Desire reawakened. Awe that he could want her, care about her to such an extreme.
With the flick of his wrist the sword disappeared. He stepped forward, uncaring and unafraid of the blades she held. She stepped back, unwilling and unable to attack until he answered her.
His wings spread out behind him, bars of a feather-soft cage. His hands reached, but rather than try to disarm her, they settled against the glass behind her, trapping her at the expense of leaving himself vulnerable.
A dare? No. The arrogant curve of his lips spoke of utter confidence.
For a split second she was tempted to draw blood as she had in the occult shop. “Why me?” Sajia repeated.
Addai wanted to dismiss the question as easily as he’d dismissed the fate of the Tucci scion. Desire rode him and restraint threatened to fall away now that he had Sajia alone.
His earlier pragmatism and willingness to linger in Oakland were gone, washed away by hot lust and insatiable craving. Thousands of years of waiting had him nearly shaking with the need to ha
ve her lying beneath him, her bare skin and curves pressed to him, her legs open and her body welcoming his.
His gaze flicked to the scorpion-shaped pendant and he decided to answer the question, to tell her the truth, though not all of it. There would be time to tell her she wasn’t human. To unravel the angelic spell glowing in ice blue script on her flesh, to free her from it so she would be fully Djinn.
Once she’d been mārdazmā, able to change into another shape, though without a non-corporeal form. The need to bind her to a human form suggested that reborn she could shapeshift, though she might well have a higher caste’s ability to become little more than unseen particles.
Until he had her heart, her loyalty, her love, he couldn’t risk her knowing she had the ability to leave him, perhaps escape his reach altogether by discovering how to cross from this world to the Djinn kingdom deep in the ghostlands.
He dropped his hand from the window to cup her cheek, marveling at the heat of her skin, the features so perfectly re-created, so well loved and so often dreamed of. He stroked his thumb over soft, trembling lips. “I would die before I let any harm come to you because once you were my lover, my wife. I failed you in that life, and because of it you were killed, slain by my kind. I won’t fail you in this life, Sajia.”
Denial screamed through Sajia. What he claimed was impossible.
Yet on the heels of that came doubt. Before mankind had nearly destroyed the world, vampires and Weres were a thing of fiction and dark fantasy, and the ghostlands called Purgatory or Sheol, or something else depending on culture and belief. From the moment she’d first encountered Addai his name had resonated through her in a way that made no sense, as if some part of her recognized him and was determined to have him, regardless of the urgent need to find Corinne.
Corinne’s name was like a knife paring away everything unimportant. The past had no relevance, not now or in the immediate future.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, ill-conceived words she regretted the instant she saw Addai’s features tighten into a ruthless expression.
Hurriedly she tried to undo the damage and steer him toward reason. “I have no memories of our life together. Without them I’m not the same woman you knew.”
He crowded closer, wings pulling in and forward so they touched her arms in an erotic, feathery caress, a cocoon of sensual heat. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip again, sending a fresh wave of tingling desire downward through her body.
“We will make new memories, Sajia.”
Heat pooled in her belly and breasts. She couldn’t deny the desire she felt, doubted she could resist the temptation he posed, the allure of becoming his lover. But neither could she turn her back on her responsibilities, knowing what the cost of it would be.
“Then let the new memories begin with our finding Corinne.”
“No. One of the others will see to the task.”
His face lowered and she turned her head, avoiding the touch of his lips to hers. “Any help you’re willing to give or can arrange is appreciated, but I need to search as well. The Mas—”
Addai’s teeth closed on her earlobe in warning, a sharp bite that aroused rather than frightened, though the words following it were whispered menace. “I won’t issue another warning. Think of yourself as belonging to anyone else and you sign their death warrant. Your days of being around vampires are over. The marks on your arm will soon be gone and nothing will remain of your time with them.”
“No,” she said, fear making her pulse beat wildly in her throat, freeing her from the sexual thrall his presence evoked. “No. Even if Corinne is found by someone else, I took an oath. If I fail in my duties, then the punishment is mine alone. But if I betray the Tuccis or run away, then my family will pay for my transgressions.”
“I will see that your family is taken to another city and given everything they need to survive in it.”
“They have ties in San Francisco, lives there. Obligations to the vampires that aren’t easily set aside. And even if they did leave, can you guarantee their safety if I break my oath?”
She knew he couldn’t. Vampires were capable of pursuing vengeance over centuries. Some said their reach extended into the afterlife itself.
“As much as any human life can be safeguarded,” Addai said. “A blink of an eye in the span of eternity and millions of them are born, grow old, and pass from this world. Those you call family will die, Sajia, regardless of where they live. I won’t allow any chance of death taking you, not again. You are mine. You will remain here, out of danger.”
Cold truth and implacable will, his voice held no compassion, nothing other than resolve delivering a fate she couldn’t accept. A part of her wept even as she used the knives still in her hands, stabbed him in desperate reaction.
He danced backward rather than subduing and disarming her. Eyes glittered as blood streamed downward over perfect flesh. “If you remembered me, Sajia, then you would know this will only serve as foreplay.”
She crouched and moved sideways, away from the window, adrenaline spiking through her. Rational thought dominating in spite of the panic and fear.
Her only hope lay in changing his mind, not in defeating him physically. Only by demonstrating her determination and taking advantage of his earlier confession could she achieve it.
I would die before I let any harm come to you.
He came after her, arms held loosely at his sides and expression arrogant. Telling her without words that he didn’t need to call the sword he’d shown her earlier in order to defeat her.
“Surrender now, Sajia, and the penalty will be minimal. An early lesson in submission rather than the freedom to explore your new home I thought to allow while we became reacquainted.”
She didn’t respond to the taunt, didn’t back down when he lunged. She swung and missed, but the force of it conveyed the seriousness of her intent.
He laughed then feinted, playing with her, maneuvering her around the room. The wounds she’d inflicted with her knives had already healed, leaving only smears of blood over smooth skin.
She used the time to study her surroundings, looking for weapons and ways to escape.
Foreplay, he’d said, and she could see the truth of it. The front of his pants was tented by his hardened cock. His voice held no less evidence of arousal as he regaled her with what her lesson in submission would entail.
Kneeling naked and head bowed.
Remaining motionless and waiting for his touches as he spread them out, teaching her to crave them.
Hurrying to the bed when he finally ordered it and eagerly positioning herself so he could bind her wrists and ankles to the posts in symbolic acknowledgment of her total surrender.
Sajia found it too easy to imagine. He was sculpted perfection, a dark angel of carnal sin.
She couldn’t tell whether her traitorous heart beat more rapidly in anticipation of it or in fear of not being able to convince him of the need to return to Oakland.
He was in no hurry to catch her. If anything, he seemed to delight in the flex of his muscles, the folding and unfolding of his wings until she was driven to say, “You remind me of a male peacock.”