Witch Fire (10 page)

His bones ached just thinking about it. Time wore on him more and more these days. It was coming to the point he needed Stefan to step in for him once in awhile. Crane clenched his jaw. He hated to admit that truth.

“I'll bet anything Thomas sent Jack to stand between me and this witch.” Crane snorted with derision. “It's just like the bastard.”

They'd been playing games for years now, he and Thomas Monahan. Just like Crane had played games with Monahan's father, the previous head of the Coven. He'd eventually killed him, and he'd get around to killing Thomas, too, one of these days. Monahan was an annoying gnat buzzing around his head. Unfortunately, once Monahan was gone there'd just be another Coven gnat standing in line to replace him.

“With respect, sir, we have no reason to suspect Jack McAllister is handling this air witch at all. We've been watching McAllister's place in downtown Minneapolis. We've found no evidence of her presence, or his, for that matter. I've tried to gain knowledge of her presence through the flow of the water in the building, but haven't found anything. Most likely Thomas didn't use Jack because of his…history…and they moved her directly to the Coven in Chicago.”

Crane raised his gaze to David's. Was he daring to tell him he was wrong? He spoke slowly so David would understand him. “Thomas would use Jack because he's the best, regardless of his…
history
. If he or the woman became injured, or some other unforeseen event occurred, he would likely take her to his Minneapolis apartment for quick, safe cover.”

David took a step back away from him at the tone of his voice. His fig leaf tightened a degree. “We'll keep trying to verify her presence, Mr. Crane.”

He cast an irritated glance at him. “My son's no fool. He's got powerful wards in place. You're never going to be able to use magick to discover her presence. You can take your water and pour it down the drain.”

“We can place men at each of his apartments across the country, though he may have taken refuge in his rooms in the Coven. Perhaps while we keep investigating the Minneapolis possibility, we should begin to prepare for an alternate plan to pry her from the Coven?”

Crane stared at him, letting his anger bleed into his eyes. “I admire your initiative, even though you're second-guessing me, David. You do realize that, don't you?” His voice sounded like a whip in the boardroom.

Another half step backward. David would be out the damn door soon. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“Concentrate on Minneapolis. They didn't move her to Chicago yet. They stashed her somewhere close, and it has
Jack
written all over it. I feel it in my gut. He's got the woman. Bring in the best wardbreakers you can find.”

Crane sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and cursed himself yet again for his bad judgment regarding Jack. His decision to allow Jack's aunt to raise his son had been the biggest mistake of his life.

When Jack had been a child, Crane had assumed his son had inherited all of his mother's sensibilities and none of his. He'd never thought Jack's magick was that strong, or his will, for that matter. He'd assumed his son wouldn't be useful to him in any way.

It turned out Jack had much of his father in him after all. Tenacity. Strength. Resolve. The ability to do whatever had to be done in order to achieve a certain end, and the capability to do it with unparalleled ruthlessness.

Of all the Coven's operatives, Jack was the one who gave them the most trouble.

The regret tasted bitter. If Crane had raised Jack and twisted him
just so
, Jack would've grown into a fine man. He would've grown into a man like Stefan and would've been his right hand these days. Crane could've used someone like Jack working to further his agenda. As it turned out, Jack was working to hinder it.

It wasn't all bad. Crane had lost Jack, but had gained Stefan, a rare half-breed fire witch with an amazing amount of both power and rage. Crane had discovered him in Paris and taken him under his wing at the tender age of twelve. He'd groomed all that delightful anger and ambition into a dangerous, sharp point.

Yes, he'd lost his son, but he'd still managed to find an heir. Stefan used his good looks to his advantage and showed up often in the society pages. He was a media star and had been voted one of the top five eligible bachelors in the United States by several magazines. Little did anyone know the savage heart that beat under Stefan's polished public facade.

Damn, but he was a proud father.

“She's there,” Crane finished. “Give the wardbreakers all the resources they desire. I need that woman. We might have to do this the crude way and break in.” He sighed. “I hate doing it the crude way.”

“Yes, sir. I'll get right on it.”

“And bring in Stefan from Europe. I need him for this. Christ, if we can't get this woman into the demon circle we'll have to use Marcus. I don't want to waste him. He's perfect where he is, not much power to wield against us and nicely broken in. Anyway, I don't even know if he has enough juice to close a circle.”

Their pet air witch had been paper-trained long ago. Marcus had just enough power to give the Duskoff some much needed service in the realm of air magick, but not enough to fight them. Not like the woman. Unless they controlled her before she fully came into her powers, she'd be able to wipe them off the face of the planet.

Crane shuddered in pleasure. Ah, she was delectable. If her parents were any measure, she was a fount of untapped potential. She probably had enough magick to close five demon circles. He might just have to play with her a little—while she was heavily drugged, of course—before he left her the honor of performing this most important task for him.

“Understood, sir.”

Crane watched David leave the boardroom, then rose from his leather office chair and crossed the room to the bar. He needed a drink. In the mirror above the polished bar, he studied his reflection. Silver marked his hair at the temples. Age and illness now lined his once handsome face.

His light blue eyes were the only thing that had stayed the same over the years. They were the same eyes that stared from Jack's face. They were eyes that people said were strange to find on a fire witch—so icy and cold.

He took a short, chunky crystal glass and poured himself a bourbon and branch. The cancer was growing within him. He could practically feel it eating him up inside. He could heal himself somewhat, but the disease was quickly breaching the limits of his ability. He suffered bouts of severe nausea and fatigue. His leg bones and knees, where the cancer was mostly located, ached.

Fear flickered through him, and he clenched his free hand.

Fear.
He should know none of that.

He had so much power to command, not only in magick but in the non-magickal world as well. Companies thrived or failed at his whim. Politicians won or lost by his will. People lived, suffered, or died by his desires.

Yet his own body was doing him in.

Crane took a long drink of the bourbon. There was nothing he could do to stop this slow deterioration of his health.

Except find that woman.

S
EXUAL AGONY.

That was the only way to describe it.

Jack took a sip of his bourbon and stared over the rim of his glass at Mira. Letting the liquid sit on his tongue a moment before sliding down his throat, he traced the curve of her exposed calf with his gaze.

He supposed she favored his sweatpants because they were comfortable. Despite all the clothes he'd bought her, she still wore them often. Likely, she didn't realize how sexy she looked in them. Maybe she even thought they made her less attractive and would stop him from wanting to make advances on her.

Oh, if only that were the case.

The sweatpants were his, first of all, and the idea of her bare body in his clothing made his cock hard. Second of all, they were charmingly too large for her and made her seem even more fragile and delicate. Third, she went around the apartment barefoot and kept hiking up the cuffs of the sweatpants so she wouldn't trip over them, thus exposing her very lovely, silky smooth calves.

Calves he wanted to lick and kiss. Calves he wanted to stroke with his palms right before he guided her legs around his waist.

He took another sip of his drink and watched her shift on the couch as she read his battered copy of
The Call of the Wild
. It was one of his favorites, though he hadn't told her that.

It seemed like Mira had been through half his library in the last few days. There wasn't much to do but read and surf the Internet. He didn't own a TV. There wasn't one in any of his apartments.

He had a stereo system, though, and they'd been through his entire CD collection. Everything from Mozart to Led Zeppelin to Nine Inch Nails. She liked both classical music and classic rock the best and had the endearing habit of dancing and singing along—badly—when she thought he wasn't looking.

She turned over onto her stomach, totally engrossed in the story. The soft, well-worn material of the sweatpants clung lovingly to her shapely ass, defining each perfect cheek. His mind called up the memory of how that sweetest part of her anatomy had felt in his hands.

He could think of much more interesting ways to pass the time than by reading or surfing the 'Net. For example, he could walk over there right now and charm her right out of those silly sweatpants. He could ease them down her legs, pull her sweatshirt off, and spread her smooth thighs. He could bury his head between her legs and spend hours there. Gods, he bet she was so sweet and hot down there, a pleasure against his tongue. He wanted to lick her swollen, creamy sex until Mira begged to feel his cock.

Jack would wager any amount of money that she'd never experienced a man going down on her in the right way. Never experienced a man who did it slow and knew where to touch a woman. He ached to show her, ached to make her come that way, against his lips, tongue, and fingers. He wanted to hear the sounds she made, wanted to taste her, wanted to feel her sex pulse around his tongue when she finally climaxed.

“Jack?”

He blinked and focused on her face, coming out of his vivid daydream.

She frowned at him. “Are you all right? You were staring at me.”

He relaxed his hold on the glass, realizing he'd been gripping near hard enough to shatter it. “Don't worry about me. I'm fine,” he growled.

A hurt look passed over her face, making him feel guilty for his gruff tone. “Sorry,” she replied. “Just asking. How's your hand?”

He glanced at his palm. The burn had healed to a neat pink slash across his skin. “Almost gone.”

She nodded, closed the book, and slid it onto the table.

“Finished already?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I need to get out of this place, Jack. If the Duskoff don't kill me in their circle, boredom will. Can't we get out a little, just, I don't know, let me go to the grocery with you or something? Anything?”

“It's got to be this way. We stay here until we get word from Thomas that it's safe to get you to the Coven. The plan was to take you there immediately, but when you hit your head I had to bring you here.”

She nodded. “How is Thomas Monahan making sure it's safe to move? What's the Coven doing to help that happen?”

“The Coven is watching the Duskoff, monitoring their activities, but the Duskoff are watching us too. We're safe within these walls and we can't move until we get say-so.”

“The Duskoff are watching.” She shivered and rested her head on a throw pillow, staring at him with her wide dark eyes. “Great.”

Gods, she looked so fragile, so breakable. He knew she was a strong woman mentally, but physically…“Have you been practicing with your magick?”

“I've been practicing a lot. I'm getting good. I've got lots more control now.”

He nodded. “It's probably time to go a little further. You need to learn some basic defensive magick.”

“Oh.” She lifted her head from the cushion. “Do you think I'll need that? Because, really, I'm more of a lover than a fighter.”

And wouldn't he like to find out if that was true.

He shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. We're not sure why the Duskoff wants the demon circle drawn. Could be they'll come after you with guns blazing. Could be they'll let the Coven have you, thinking you're too much trouble to deal with.” He pursed his lips. “But I'm betting on the former. They don't let witches like you go very easily.”

“Great. I'm stuck in this apartment for the next year. Fantastic.”

“Look, I don't like it any more than you do. But Monahan has the Coven on the situation. They think you're safest here right now and so do I. There's no leaving this warded, protected area. Not until Monahan says it's time.”

She sat up and blew out a frustrated breath. “Am I going to have to run and hide forever because of my special brand of magick?” She winced and bit her lip. “I hate to whine, but really…I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. I just want things to be normal, stable.” She sighed. “That's all I ever wanted—normality.”

Jack set his glass down and smiled. “You have no idea of the power you wield, do you? Once you're in control of your abilities no one is ever going to be able to hurt you again.” He shook his head. “There will be no more running, no more hiding. In fact, Crane might be running and hiding from you.”

She blinked. “Oh. Then how do you explain what happened to my parents?”

“Ah. Well, no one is ever completely invulnerable. By the way, Thomas thinks you'll be more powerful than either of your parents.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug. Clearly, she didn't believe him. “Maybe after all this is over I can go into some kind of magickal witness protection program.”

“One day you'll have stability again. It will just be a different kind of stability. It will be a house in the burbs with two-point-five kids and magick on the side type of stability.”

She grinned. “An
I Dream of Jeannie
or
Bewitched
kind of stability.”

He grinned back. “Something like that. As for being normal, Mira, you've never been that. Not from the day you were conceived.”

She shot him a dirty look. “Gee, thanks.”

“That was a compliment.”

She just sighed.

She truly did have no idea of her power. For now, since she was untrained, that was a good thing. He didn't want any unexplainable tornadoes ripping through downtown Minneapolis in the dead of winter, or any of the other innumerable accidents that could occur with uncontrolled air magic.

On the other hand, she needed to know what she was capable of so she could defend herself. The thought of someone hurting Mira was unbearable to him, even more now that he knew her personally. She was no longer merely a responsibility to him, a way to make amends for standing there passively and watching her mother die. He'd come to know Mira to be a warm, intelligent, and caring person over the past week.

He'd learned she had a deep appreciation for classic literature like himself, had a unnatural love for Braeburn apples and Colby cheese, and, despite her faithfulness to the Wiccan religion, was a skeptical person when it came to all things magickal.

She was uncertain of her abilities and definitely lacking in self-confidence, but Jack felt once she mastered her magick, she would also find her true self. Jack already knew she was incredibly powerful.

Now Mira had to come to that understanding.

He set his glass down, stood, and moved some furniture to the side, well out of the way of his anticipated trajectory, and then walked to Mira. “Stand. This is your first lesson in defensive magick.”

He offered her a hand up. She took it and stood, looking doubtful and a little nervous.

“Don't be afraid.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her so her back was to him, his own back to the area he'd cleared, and pressed his body to hers. “I'm the one who should be scared,” he murmured.

She jerked a little and tried to turn, but he held her in place. The heat of her body warmed him, and the light scent of her rose perfume caught in her hair teased his nostrils.

Damn. This
was why he'd avoided training her.

He closed his eyes for a moment at the delicious feel of her against him. A muscle worked in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, fighting to control his cock, which wanted to rise and harden at her near proximity. Baseball, he needed to think about baseball.

“Since I'm a fire witch, of all the elements I'm best equipped to defend myself or to cause physical harm,” he said softly near her ear. “But we each have the ability to use our magick in a fight. I'm going to show you one way to use yours.”

What he had to do now required intimate physical contact. The magick didn't care if it killed him to touch her and not
really
touch her. It was necessary he have contact with the seat of her magick to be better able to help her control it, should it get out of hand.

He eased his arms around her. She shivered against him and her breathing hitched as they felt the undeniable response of her magick to his. The magick receded after that initial brush, but the attraction remained.

This craving he felt for her should have been easing by now. Their magicks were finding a balance. The accompanying erotic response should've been finding equilibrium also, like amounts of water leveling off. Hell, he'd been counting on his lust for her fading away before it drove them both insane. Yet, against all reason and magickal law, it seemed to be becoming even more intense.

How much of this torture were they supposed to take?

He placed his hands on her hips, and she went very still. Dragging her back against him, he fit her sweetly curved ass against his groin—and stopped to think about baseball again for a moment. Then he eased his hands up her stomach and placed his fingertips between her breasts, careful not to actually touch them.

Mira's breathing grew deep and heavy. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest under his fingertips. Was she excited right now? Did she want him as much he wanted her? Was she hot and damp between her lovely thighs? He wanted to find out.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured into her ear. “Concentrate on drawing out a wisp of magick just the way you've been practicing, only take a little more this time. Draw about twice as much as you normally acquire, but no more than that.”

“Got it,” she said in a breathless voice.

“Already?”

“Been practicing.”

“Okay. Good. Imagine that I'm an attacker. Imagine that I'm behind you with an intent to do you harm.”

“You mean imagine that I don't want you touching me?” she murmured.

Jack took a moment to respond, trying to figure out what that comment meant. Did it mean it was hard to imagine…or easy? “Yes. Then direct it toward me with the desire to blow me backward.”

Silence.
Nothing.

“Mira?”

“Don't rush me. I'm working up to it.”

“Okay. Don't worry about hurting—”

A gust of wind ripped him away from Mira. He sailed backward and landed on his back. His breath whooshed out of him and he slid five feet on the polished floor before coming to a stop. Jack lay sprawled, staring up at Mira in surprise.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to push you that hard.” She ran to him and offered a hand to help him up.

He regarded it warily for half a second, then took it and got to his feet. He winced and touched his aching lower back. “Ouch.”

“I'm so, so sorry.”

He took her face between his hands and forced her to look up at him. “Stop saying that. You did what I asked you do. You might be more of a fighter than you think.”

She gave him a wicked smile. “So do we need to practice that another one hundred and fifty times then?”