Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) (21 page)

Ianthe glanced at the ancient sorcerer’s mirror on the wall near the rune sets. Aislinn had restored it using heartmate stones.

Already today a couple of women had entered the shop as friends and left to become so much more after having the mirror react. She’d read the desire they felt for each other, and their fear of exposing it and being rejected, as easily as a human child might recognize letters of the alphabet, but then lust and love where part of a succubus’ trade.

The bells above the door tinkled as it was opened by a blonde woman. Her physical appearance was lost in the miasma of her soul’s aura. Not demonic, but tainted, streaked through with black and red, death and blood.

Ianthe moved immediately to stand in front of Aislinn and the woman stilled, not the freeze of a prey animal but that of a predator on the point between full commitment or hasty retreat. Their eyes met and Ianthe saw a type of madness in the woman’s, crafty, sly, the cunning of evil let loose in the world. The desire to torment coupled with pleasure and tied to focused purpose.

The blonde backed out of the shop, turning and moving from sight with quick strides. Ianthe followed, trusting her instincts, though moments later her quarry had lost her.

She returned to Inner Magick. “What did you sense?” Aislinn asked.

“She meant to do you harm. She came here for that purpose.”

A shudder went through Aislinn. Her skin paled. “Nicole Harper sent someone to kill me when she became afraid that Trace and Dylan would discover she and her husband practiced black magic, and had used a demon to kill someone.”

Ianthe recognized the name immediately, understood instantly the taint on the blonde’s soul. She’d wielded Lucifer’s Blade, she’d killed with it. “Did you get a good look at her?”

“Only a quick one.”

“Can you draw her face?”

“Yes. Not perfectly, but close enough.”

“Do it. I’ll call Miguel.”

By the direction and feel of the familiar bond stretching between them, she thought he was at the police station. It wouldn’t take long for him to arrive.

Aislinn nodded, the excitement bursting through her aura telling Ianthe she understood this might be the break the detectives needed.

Ianthe made the call, still thrilling at the marvel of technology in this modern-day world.

“What’s up?” Miguel asked.

“A woman tainted by Lucifer’s Blade came here.”

“Are you okay? Is Aislinn?”

“Yes. Something in the woman recognized the danger I posed. She left without fully entering the shop.”

“If I show you a picture, you could identify her?”

“Yes. And Aislinn is drawing her now.”

“Conner and I are on our way. Trace will be too when I break this to him.” Miguel laughed, his voice like Aislinn’s aura, bursting with excitement. “Be prepared to see The Caveman in action.”

Ianthe put the phone away, and though she knew Aislinn was safe, she discovered she didn’t feel at ease until she pushed the curtain of beads separating the store from the working area aside and positioned herself in the doorway.

In retrospect, she should have signaled the dragons and involved them. But it had happened so quickly. The woman would have registered as fully human to the dragons and not been perceived as a threat, given Ianthe’s presence in the shop and their expectation she would sacrifice herself if necessary.

Next time she’d think faster on her feet. This time pleasure still filled her at having been there to prevent harm from coming to Aislinn.

Slowly, one good deed at a time, she hoped to atone for the harm she’d caused as a demon. Perhaps developing a conscience was evolution for her former kind, or a subconscious decision made after centuries of existence. She knew only that the dream of being human had taken hold along with a longing so intense that, when opportunity presented itself to become mortal, she’d grasped it.

Aislinn rose from her seat just as Ianthe heard sirens approaching. Closing the distance between them, Aislinn tilted the sketchpad so Ianthe could see it. “What do you think?”

“Only a photograph would capture her as well.”

The praise made Aislinn smile. And that smile widened moments later when Conner and Miguel arrived and saw it, simultaneously saying, “Got you.”

“You know who she is?” Ianthe asked, warmth spreading through her when Miguel caged her against the counter and pressed his lips to her neck as Conner dropped a folder next to the sketchpad, then opened it to reveal a driver’s license picture. There was no mistaking that they were the same woman.

“You’re looking at Camille Cunningham,” Conner said. “She was Nicole Harper’s personal assistant. Thanks to the money trail one of Severn’s e-wizards found, we were already looking at her and Harper’s defense attorney as possible suspects.”

His eyes met Ianthe’s and she felt a quiet joy at having overcome the hurdle of distrust that began when she’d been bound to a medallion in the possession of Khemirra’s enemy. “How sure are you that Camille has had contact with the blade?” he asked.

“Not just contact. She’s wielded it. She’s killed with it. It’s marked her aura. I’m certain of it.” There could be no other explanation given the facts she did know.

“Good enough.” His attention shifted to Aislinn. “Trace is going show up any second now. You and I both know he’s going to demand you go home and stay there until we’ve got Camille in custody.”

Her delicate features firmed with resolve. “I’m not abandoning my shop. Ianthe and the dragons can keep me safe.”

Conner laughed. “Then I’ll call in reinforcements. With Khemirra here as well as Ianthe, you’ll at least stand a chance in convincing The Caveman not to haul you out forcibly if necessary.

Ianthe snickered at hearing the nickname the others had given to Aislinn’s husband. Miguel turned her in his arms, heat crawling up his neck when he said, “Maybe Ian needs to make an appearance.”

“This form is just as effective,” she murmured. It was impossible not to kiss him, to reward him for his care of his friends and his public admission. Just as it was impossible to stop at one kiss.

The door crashing open broke them apart. Trace paused only long enough to glance at the pictures and say, “Get the search going but keep it low profile so she doesn’t spook and make it out of the country. I’ll catch up with you.”

A rough, soul-stealing kiss later and he was propelling Aislinn through the bead curtain and to the vacant apartment above the shop.

“Hard to believe we once called him The Pro when it came to women,” Conner said, laughing. Ianthe and Miguel joined him, her heart swelling at being part of this group of human detectives with their supernatural mates and friends.

* * * * *

Dylan’s cock hardened against Seraphine’s thigh.

He laughed when she murmured, “Nice.”

“More like impossible,” he said, rising onto an elbow. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Her smile sent more blood straight to his dick. “Of course you’re not,” she said, eyes opening to meet his. “You’re a guy.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints on that front.”

The hand that had been cupping her breast left in favor of settling on her abdomen in a self-administered test to see just how long he could last without brushing his palm over the narrow strip of pubic hair leading to her clit and opening.

Lowered lashes and parted lips were meant to test his restraint. He couldn’t resist kissing her, delving into the hot depths of her mouth with his tongue even if it made his cock scream neglect.

She laughed as though she could hear an echo of the thought, and said, “You know you don’t have to deny yourself.”

Jesus, he wanted her. Isolated from all reality but her, he wanted to believe a future together was possible.

How the hell had that happened? A glance at the makeshift tethers still attached to the headboard and he had part of the answer, but only part.

“I saw you with a blond last night.”

Where the fuck had that come from?

Yet he knew the answer instantly, recognized he’d lobbed the bomb like a cop with a suspect so he could catch her reaction—slight surprise but total lack of guilt.

“I owe him a debt. He wants to be my lover.” Her hand covered his, trapping the heat that seemed to radiate from his ring. “There’s no chance of that now.”

Dylan glanced away, not denial, at least when it came to the heartmate stones. This thing with her had gone a little too far for him to manage that, but…

“Fuck, Seraphine. I don’t want to hurt you the way my old man did my mother. He was a repeat offender when it came to being unfaithful.”

“You could never be that,” she said with complete certainty, bringing his gaze back to hers.

“I could.”

Christ. He’d gone beyond the point of no return.

“I have. Despite promising myself the whole time I was growing up that I’d never be like him.”

Her expression shuttered and it was like being a kid again and watching his mother slowly die inside. He started to roll away, to break the physical contact, but Seraphine stopped him with a hand cupping his jaw, with the rub of her thumb across his lips. “You’ve got a core of honor. I don’t believe you’d willingly cheat on someone you loved.”

Believe it.
And he felt like he was ripping his heart open.

Christ he didn’t want to revisit this but he owned her that much.

“There was a girl I was serious about in college. Heather. She was a wannabe witch.”

Seraphine’s brows lifted. He grimaced, rejected telling her anything more about Jacqueline than, “There was a so-called witch who ran an occult bookstore. Heather and a few other girls she hung out with got sucked into Jacqueline’s sphere of influence. I ended up going to one of their ceremonies—half curious and half trying to find some leverage to get Heather away from Jacqueline. Heather and the other girls were in robes, Jacqueline was naked, doing some kind of spell, or so she said.”

His dick actually started going soft remembering it, saying it, but back then… “I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I found some excuse to go by her place. Heather walked in while I was fucking the witch.”

He pulled away from Seraphine’s grasp and sat. She followed, arms going around him, breasts pressed to his back, lips on his neck, his shoulder, as feminine fingers toyed with a nipple, sending streaks of fire to his cock so it became engorged again.

“Did it ever occur to you that some part of the so-called spell was meant to enrapture you? And that in close proximity you were manipulated by a charm or a separate spell?”

He snorted. “Impossible.”

She bit him and son of a bitch if that didn’t turn him on.

“As impossible as this?” she murmured, abandoning his nipple to curl her fingers around his dick and cause him to moan as his hips jerked.

“I can’t exactly think straight with you doing that,” he countered.

She released him but that was worse, because then he couldn’t avoid revisiting just how quickly he’d recovered and been ready for another round of lovemaking.

The thoughts of the day before, about sex magic being a witchcraft he could get behind, returned with the impact of an arrow hitting a bull’s-eye. “Are you saying—”

“No, I think this is a side benefit to us both being in possession of a heartstone.”

She took pity on him, or at least his cock. She took possession of it again, her touch all that was necessary to have pre-cum beading on the tip and his shaft pulsing against her hand.

“I’ll never believe you willingly cheated. Your disbelief in magic and your fear of being like your father would have made you vulnerable.”

Believe it
, meant for her, because he didn’t want to hurt her.

Countered by a swell of aching hope, ordering him to
believe her
, so he could cling to the possibility of having something he’d denied himself for so long, a family rather than an endless stream of drinking buddies and one-night stands.

“Unless time travel is a possibility, there’s no way of proving it one way or the other,” he said.

“Disbeliever,” she teased. “Could you find her if you were willing to confront her?”

“Yeah. I doubt she’s gone anywhere.” Not with a steady stream of coeds.

Seraphine slid backward and he couldn’t stand the loss of contact. He turned, carrying her down to the mattress, a hand tangled in her hair. A touch of his mouth to hers, a thrust of his tongue, and all discussion of magic and his past disappeared in the oblivion that came with the slide of his cock inside her.

* * * * *

Conner and Miguel looked up from their focus on Miguel’s computer screen when Trace entered the bullpen. “Aislinn at home?” Conner asked.

He let his scowl answer the question.
Fucking no, she’s not at home
. And despite Ianthe and Khemirra’s assurances they could keep her safe, he fucking hated it!

Miguel laughed. “I guess sex doesn’t solve every problem. Damn, talk about bursting my bubble.”

“Hey, it might not work for him, but that doesn’t mean we’ll get the same results.”

“True.”

Conner grinned. “Could be we need to give him some pointers.”

“That’ll be the day,” Trace said, his aggravation burning away as he flashed back to the exquisite pleasure of having sex with his wife.

His wife
. Damn but he loved her so much even the
thought
of losing her was agony.

“You got anything?” he asked, fiercely determined to do whatever it took to make her safe.

“As a matter of fact, yeah, Miguel just hit something.”

He joined them at Miguel’s desk. Son of bitch, it was the assistant, only she wasn’t going by the name Camille Cunningham.

“She paid somebody good money for an identity makeover,” Conner said. “I know you and Dylan ran her. We ran her too, but this time Miguel put the picture Aislinn drew through a facial recognition program. Birth name, Claudia Jergensen. Charged but not convicted in the death of her husband. Guy was fifty years older than she was at the time. Look at who defended her.”