The Problem With Witches: An Arcane Shot Series Novel Read online

  Then he worked his fingers in her some more, around his cock. Nevertheless, when he removed his hand and thrust deeper, sliding into that hold before the water could follow and cause them a problem, he saw her catch her lip in her teeth at the brief discomfort of a quick entry. But she bore down, accepted, managed it. Embraced it. That spoke to the darkness in him, the way she took the pain he gave her and turned it into pleasure for both of them.

  He returned his hand to her wet hair, firmly pulling against her scalp as he pushed her down on him, working her body against him. It was all him now, her holding on as he took her on the ride he wanted. Her lips were wet, her eyes shining and glazed, her body arched and pushed into his, offering, giving. Anything he wanted. He bent his head, nipped her breast, found her nipple, sucked hard, pinched it between his firm lips and heard her gasp, felt her shudder, the ripple of her cunt on him.

  He adjusted his hold, taking a bruising grip on her buttocks, and found her rim, teasing, stroking. Before her, he’d been a total ass man, almost always taking his subs there. With his size, it was more comfortable for them and, admittedly, it was less intimate for him, presenting less emotional and physical risks both. His dick had had the welcoming heat and clasp of a willing pussy more in his relatively short time with Marcie than in most of his life. But fifty years from now, it still wouldn’t be enough.

  He still enjoyed plundering that sweet, willing ass, too, but even when he wasn’t ass-fucking her, he liked the feel of slapping his body against her soft buttocks. So now he pulled out and, when she gave him a pouty look, he took care of that, turning her around and shoving back into her before he could lose the sweet lubrication of her cunt. Another tough entry, and when she gasped at the effort anew, he banded his arm over her chest, between her lovely breasts, so he could grip her throat, hold her chin up. He dropped his other hand to play with her clit and around her stretched tissues, over his nice, big cock. “You going to fight me, brat? Give me attitude?”

  She shook her head, but he felt her tremble. She knew he’d seen it, that brief protest and rebellion that could set him off, trigger that darkness in him. At one time, as Mikhael had said, he hadn’t wanted Marcie anywhere near that part of him. But she’d refused to be deterred, had stepped into those dark rooms. And she wouldn’t leave. By marrying him, she’d effectively locked herself in them and thrown away the key.

  For better or worse—wow, did the thought bring those vows home—there was no going back now. He would never let her go. If she was determined to play in the darkness of his soul, he would make damn sure she’d find unforgettable pleasure within the pain he needed to inflict. He wanted her afraid to cross those lines, but wanting what he could give her too much to let the fear stop her.

  He put his mouth to her shoulder and bit again as he tightened the grip on her throat, felt the frantic pounding of the pulse. He bit harder, teeth digging in with the desire to find blood. He’d made sure to latch onto the muscle, not the collarbone, and it twitched under his grip, responding to the clamp.

  She was writhing on him, her buttocks rubbing against him as she struggled. She had both hands latched on his forearm, her fingers digging into him, too. He kept fucking her, deeper, harder. It felt like the water was heating up from the combustible energy coming off of both of them.

  Her hair smelled wet, flowery, like when she came out of the shower, but it had the earthy, primal smells of the lake, too. He wanted to move to the bank, press her down to her elbows and knees, leave furrows in the mud from how roughly he took her. But he wasn’t willing to move from here, to change a thing about how good she felt to him. He eased the clamp of his jaw enough to speak to her. Order her to do his bidding.

  “Go up and over,” he whispered. “Right now, or I will tear your ass up, little girl.”

  She tightened on him, lifted, struggled against him some more, and the climax took her, wresting strangled cries from her throat as his fingers worked her and he kept thrusting into her, feeling the bliss of her soft backside each time he shoved against it.

  The water rippled around them as her release brought forth his own, and he spilled himself inside her. One of the things he liked about climaxing in her pussy was jetting that seed deep into her, knowing it would slip out of her, stain her panties, smell like him when she took them off later. He’d thought about that when he took her in the hotel room, before they came to see Elagra. He was a damn animal, wanting to mark her with his teeth, his seed, his scent, but he didn’t have to apologize for that darkness. Not anymore.

  She’d saved his soul. Not by pulling it out of that darkness, but by making sure he’d never be standing alone in it again. She was the single star in his night sky, but the one that guided him in all things. Mikhael was right about that.

  Not that they had to be all female and analyze it or anything.

  Chapter Ten

  Whatever had possessed Mikhael to initiate that impromptu Fast and Furious moment, it had been a good decision. Because once back at the hotel suite, playtime was over. The urgency of their mission returned in full force. Though Mikhael didn’t state their next step straight out, Ben knew what it was. He could feel the sense of expectation in the room. Waiting on him.

  Raina was curled up on the couch. Mikhael sat at the dining room table, fingers templed before him, back straight, head up and eyes closed. It was a meditative look, but Ben had no doubt he was as cued into the energy of the room as any of them. All of them waiting.

  Derek had rejoined them. Different set of jeans and shirt, same staff. He’d dropped his cowboy hat on the coffee table and sat on the couch where Raina was, his long arm along the back behind her, booted feet stretched out to the right of the table. Raina and Mikhael had caught him up on what had happened below ground, and the blue eyes had cooled at the mention of the new moon. They’d discussed when that would be.

  Just past midnight, less than twenty-four hours from now.

  Ben didn’t sit down. He moved to the wet bar. He felt Marcie’s brown eyes on him, and in his peripheral vision he saw her fingers tighten on the arm of the occasional chair where she sat. It was a small tell, but a significant one. He stared at the decanter of whiskey, but between taking a drink and ensuring Marcie didn’t puncture the sofa with a death grip, there was no contest. He stepped back and away, moving to the high counter separating the small kitchenette from the living area.

  As he leaned a hip against it, he saw there was a cheerful bowl of peanut M&Ms placed on the marbleized granite surface. They didn’t look like a stock Hotel Monteleone amenity. Interesting, witches and sorcerers liking candy, but then, who didn’t?

  Marcie rose and met him there, moving to take a seat on the tall bar stool. Ben dropped his hand to Marcie’s knee, a touchstone, fingers curling around the thin denim stretched over her thigh. His thumb moved idly up and down the inseam. He knew her body always heated at his touch, because even his most incidental contact had a tone of sexual command to it. But there was more to this moment than that.

  His sweet sub scooped out a few M&Ms and spent a couple moments placing them on the granite counter. Some wanted to roll, but she steadied them, focusing on her task. He watched the smiley face take shape, and passed an affectionate hand over her back. She’d given the caricature one blue eye and one green.

  “It is a hard memory,” Raina said quietly.

  Marcie lifted her head, turned the rotating seat of her stool to face the witch. Ben was facing her already, the counter guarding his back.

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” Raina added. “To understand what Elagra has done, we need you to fill in the blanks.”

  Ben nodded. He turned his head, looked down at the M&Ms. As he did, he picked up Marcie’s hand, lifting it to his face. He cupped it against his jaw, holding tight to her wrist. Her expression held concern, but it was also open. Loving. He reached out with the free hand, caressed her face. Her lips parted at his touch on her mouth and she kissed his fingers, dipping her head to nuzzle him.


  “They’re just words,” she said. “They’re already in your head. It changes nothing to say them aloud.”

  She wasn’t entirely right. Speaking words could give the emotions behind them, particularly rage, more fuel, like oxygen to fire.

  His mind went back to the chamber, when everything had disappeared but the goddamn certainty it was long past time to snap the witch’s neck, fucking end her.

  Mikhael had stepped in front of him, the Dark Guardian filling up his vision, driving all of that back for a key moment. Ben had had to stop and recalculate the new variable, and Mikhael used it to hold his attention, help him rein it in.

  “Be careful that your temper does not tip you back into darkness, because I will be there waiting for you,” he said, low. In hindsight, Ben had realized it was a warning, not a threat, though at the time Ben had responded as if Mikhael had issued the latter.

  “Bring it. That witch is scared of you, but I’m not.”

  “Only because you’ve learned fear is the true enemy and refuse to let it have you, no matter how foolish that is. Fear is often a wise guide. But I expect if you haven’t learned that lesson by now, you never will." Mikhael lifted a hand before Ben could shove around him. Something in Mikhael’s demeanor said Ben wasn’t getting past him. Not without a hell of an ugly fight. Or the Guardian proving just how easy it would be for him to stop the advance of one mortal, no matter how pissed off.

  "Darkness has lived within you,” Mikhael said. “Almost claimed you. But it did not prevail. Do not let it prevail now. Your woman is here with you. Live up to her faith in you.”

  Which was exactly why he’d turned away from the call of that whiskey just now. The night he’d let his temper, that fear and darkness, take hold of him and he’d unleashed it on her, it had been helped by alcohol. He’d sworn that would never happen again. He’d gone a year without drinking to understand how not to use it as a dangerous crutch. He could drink now, and was glad for it, since he enjoyed the pastime, but he’d learned when he could. And when he couldn’t.

  Right now he couldn’t.

  Elagra’s words had brought Amy back to him, and the girl had filled his vision, her cries hammering the inside of his brain. All those years ago, they hadn’t registered, hadn’t even penetrated his consciousness, until it was far too late.

  He came back to the present, rubbed a hand over his face. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like there’s anywhere you can go to escape it. The past. It’s always tethered to you.”

  “Until you realize it’s not a millstone,” Raina said. “It is the classic story of the farmer and the mule.”

  She propped her head on her hand on the arm of the couch, her dark hair falling around the brace of her slim fingers. The sparkles on the rings she was wearing winked through the strands. The leg she had propped up on the couch put her foot close to Derek’s thigh. Though Ben hadn’t seen her clean them, the soles had no evidence of the different terrains they’d covered before coming back here, the painted nails still glossy and unchipped.

  “Farmer and the mule?” Marcie ventured.

  “The farmer gets so angry at his mule, he is going to bury him alive,” Raina said. “So he puts him in a hole and starts throwing dirt into it. The mule starts stamping on the dirt, packing it down, and simply keeps stepping on top of it, until he is able to get out of the hole. At which point, I sincerely hope he kicked the farmer’s brains out and went and found a kinder master.”

  Raina’s green-gold eyes had settled into a burnished meld of both colors. “There is slavery in my past. Violation. A loss of every part of myself. I would not go through it again, not willingly, but I have used it to learn, and wield the power I have now. I have embraced love where love was offered and true.” She glanced at Mikhael, a faint smile on her lips.

  A touch of amused exasperation joined the expression, maybe because the Dark Guardian appeared to be taking no notice of them. His eyes were still closed, posture remaining straight and tall at the table. Both hands rested flat on the wood surface. “I found a better definition of myself, a stronger one,” Raina said softly. She tilted her head back toward Ben. “As did you, though you still sometimes doubt it.”

  Derek reached down, gripped the witch’s foot briefly, a squeeze, before returning his arm to the back of the couch. The gesture brought Raina’s attention to him, and she inclined her head to the Light Guardian. “I forget you can sometimes be nice,” she said.

  Derek’s blue eyes glinted. “Don’t let it get around.”

  Marcie looked toward Mikhael. “What is he doing?” she ventured. “Some kind of meditation?”

  Raina shook her head. “Checking in with his…boss. Telling him the status of things.”

  “Who’s his boss? An angel, with wings like his?”

  “An angel, yes. Lucifer. His wings are different. Black, but glossy and thick, with long, silky feathers.”

  “You’ve seen him? Lucifer? As in…” Marcie’s eyes widened.

  “Tail? Pitchfork? Horns?” Ben asked. “A trendy club in the heart of L.A.?”

  “It is wise to show Lord Lucifer respect. He is not as kind and forgiving as I am. You will have to face him one day, Ben O’Callahan, and he forgets nothing.”

  Mikhael said all that without opening his eyes. But a moment later, he did, and there was a startling trace of crimson in the depths of his dark irises before it vanished. “It is time to tell us what the witch is talking about,” the Dark Guardian said. “The night you gave her the key ingredients for whatever spell she’s concocted.”

  It sucked to hear it put that way, to know that whatever Elagra had done that was now threatening New Orleans had involved him. But Ben wouldn’t go down that road. She’d done it. Not him.

  “Whatever happened with her, it made you who you are, to me and for me.” Marcie took his hand. “Tell me what happened.” A poignant smile played on her lips, though her eyes were suffering for him. “It’s just us, in bed in the middle of the night.”

  The K&A men were a pretty insular group. Outside the guys, he didn’t do a lot of sharing. But it was uncanny, how many times since Marcie had started sharing his bed, that he could speak to the darkness that cocooned them, say words against the curtain of her hair, inside the grip of her surprisingly strong arms, showing her more of himself than he had to anyone.

  To the rest of “civilized” New Orleans, he was Ben O’Callahan, a kickass lawyer for Kensington & Associates, educated at some fancy college, yada yada yada. Not a kid Jonas Kensington had taken off the streets when Ben had made the best mistake of his life, trying to pick the man’s pocket.

  Fuck it. Time to just get it done.

  He looked into her face, and shut the rest of his audience out. “Elagra gave me a place to sleep, food to eat when the gang was hunting me,” he said. “She acted so kind at first.”

  His jaw flexed. “It’s so fucking predictable, a kid hungry for a mom he never had. But she was no mom. And she didn’t act like it for long. She had an eye for boys about my age then. She gave me food if I gave her what she wanted.”

  Marcie’s gaze flickered, her jaw tightening.

  He lifted a shoulder, stiff. “It wasn’t a big deal. She never wanted sex for herself. Never wanted to be that vulnerable. She preferred to do stuff to me. Fuck with my head and body. Wasn't the worst thing that happened to me on the streets. But the way she did it… It lingered, in a way the other times didn't, perhaps because the others…it was just brutality and the streets, power, laws of survival. She was evil.”

  He said it flatly, no drama. When he glanced up, he saw Derek and Mikhael accepted the statement at face value. So did Raina, though her comprehension was obviously a little more personal. He saw it in the spark of fire in her gaze, the stab of her fingernails into the couch cushion. Or not exactly fingernails. Something that suggested claws. A blink, and the illusion was gone. Or maybe it was a reality she’d screened. Derek’s expression was flat, but the set of his jaw said he had no tolerance
for the likes of Elagra and a total, firsthand acceptance that evil existed, no shades of gray.

  Marcie touched his hand, bringing him back to her before their close regard knocked him off track. “And Amy?”

  He flinched, but that was where this needed to go. Marcie started to close her hand around his, but he couldn’t do that, not and tell it straight. He slid his hand away, off the counter, but gave her leg a hard squeeze, softening the withdrawal, before he braced his other hand on the back of the adjacent bar stool. The cold metal cut into his palm, but that only made him want to tighten his grip, remind himself he was here. Not there.

  “As you probably noticed, when all the lights are off down there, it’s true dark. It’s like a suffocating blanket, this claustrophobic weight that pushes in on all sides. One night she tied me to a chair and did that, took away all the lights. Don’t know how she sees in that kind of dark, but she does. Normally.”

  He glanced toward Mikhael as Marcie swallowed. Raina offered a slight nod of acknowledgment, her glance going to her mate, who remained expressionless. Big surprise.

  Ben looked down at Marcie’s hand, still on the counter. Offered if he wanted, needed it. While his mind took him back to that night, the focus on it kept him in the here and now. Though he wasn’t sure if that didn’t make things a little worse, as he said the raw, vulgar words aloud.

  “She made me jerk myself off while she screwed with my head, made me feel helpless, dished out pain until I was in a killing rage. One of the ropes she’d used to tie me up with snapped. So I thought.”

  He took a breath. He had to move away and did so, to an open spot between the living and dining areas. He had to stand alone, needing the space. The memories were too dense to allow anything close. He had to focus on keeping his head above the bog.