Authors: Michele Hauf
Nikolaus spread out his arms attempting to balance, to find his way up from the delirious swoon. A rich concoction of satisfaction and blood and desire and orgasm.
“This,” he gasped, “it isn’t right. I should not…love the enemy. Ravin,” he cried. “Kill me, please.”
“Never.” She unzipped his jeans, and began to worship him as he desired. “I am yours until the spell is broken.”
T
ime to get his thoughts in order. In two days, Nikolaus would walk before the tribe and retake the leadership. He sensed Truvin would throw down the gauntlet. Tonight he would meet him at Cue for whatever it was Truvin had in mind. A brawl? A meeting of the minds?
Whatever. Nikolaus did not intend to allow Truvin to continue his reign of violence. He was ready, both in mind and body, to stand up to the elder vampire.
Physically, Nikolaus had completely recovered. Thanks to the blood sex magic, his scars were but shadows on his flesh. As well, his strength had returned. He could grip a mortal and squeeze him breathless in seconds. But a fellow vampire? He was up for the challenge.
But he had no intention of fighting. Rational, calm discussion was what was required. And who knew? Perhaps Truvin wouldn’t act as expected.
And witches’ blood was not poisonous to vamps.
Pummeling the punching bag suspended before the living room window that overlooked the Mississippi, Nikolaus moved around it, light on his feet. He’d worked up a sweat, which was a challenge for his kind. Going at it for more than an hour tended to do that. Forcing his fists into the bag kept his mind from other distractions.
Like her.
He had to keep away from the gorgeous, seductive witch for the rest of the day, else he would never be able to keep their relationship a secret from Truvin. When he stood before the tribe, they would know at a glance that he was not the staunch leader they had once known, and instead, had fallen in love with their worst enemy.
Ravin walked into the living room, spied Nikolaus lingering near the window and raced into his arms. She didn’t argue that he was always entering without permission. If there was one man in this crazy world who could permeate her wards, then let him be the tall, dark vampire who had stolen her heart.
Yeah, she could admit that in her thoughts. The man had gotten to her, he’d looked beneath the hard veneer and had touched her with his sexy smile and tender concern. He’d taken from her. And she was in no hurry to claim her heart back from him.
He held her tightly, kissing her and loudly moaning his pleasure.
“Oh, Ravin,” he murmured dramatically.
A little odd…And in that moment of wonder, Ravin’s senses kicked in. An awful scent filled her nostrils.
She pushed away from the leering vampire. “Oh, hell no.”
“Oh?” Nikolaus scampered across the room to peer into the floor-length mirror hanging on the wall in the foyer. “Oh, yes!”
“No. Way.” Turning to the counter, Ravin gripped it, fighting the rise of bile in her throat.
Brimstone. She smelled it clearly now. But not quick enough to have prevented a tongue-dance with the devil Himself.
She should have expected this to happen.
Really?
Because if she had expected it, then that meant—did that mean she was
in love
with Nikolaus?
No. She wasn’t in love with Johnny Depp, she just found him a gorgeous, tempting man. That is the guise Himself wore, that of temptation.
“I am your Nikolaus Drake!” Himself announced gleefully. He tripped over to Ravin, and when he tried to wrangle her into an embrace, she kneed him in the gut. He took the punch with little dissuasion. “Now, is that any way to treat your lover?”
“You sick bastard!”
“That’s me. Hee, hee. You’ve fallen for a bloodsucker, you idiot witch.”
“Have not!”
“Then why my ugly costume this day? Oh, now this explains the bite mark on your ass.” He smirked at Nikolaus’s reflection in the mirror. “Those dark eyes. So…violent.”
“They’re not violent, they’re caring—oh! I suppose horns and a pitchfork are more your style?”
“A ridiculous commercial image.” The figment of Nikolaus dusted at nonexistent lint on his shoulder. He wore Nikolaus’s gray jersey shirt and snug-fitted black jeans. He even stood at a lanky tilt as Nikolaus did. “You want to see my true self?”
“Been there, done that. Not interested in replaying the video.”
Ravin had seen Himself in all his wicked glory once at the turn of the twentieth century. It was not a vision she cared to stomach again, because the death of a cherished friend accompanied that return to memory.
“What are you here for? Haven’t you enough souls to torture that you can manage time away for me?”
“Sweetness, you wound me. Torture is not my forte.” Himself plopped onto the sofa, putting his legs—Nikolaus’s long, muscled legs—onto the coffee table and stretched his arms across the couch back. “I prefer temptation, you should know that.”
“Don’t do that!” Ravin stalked into the kitchen to avoid the sight. The perfectly appealing, smolderingly sensual visage of a man she wanted to climb onto and ride into the night.
She’d kissed the devil! And he’d called her sweetness. That was just wrong.
“Give us a kiss,” Himself called, pursing Nikolaus’s mouth. “And then we’ll discuss business.”
Ravin slammed her arms over her chest. Nikolaus sat on her couch, his eyes closed and his lips pursed in wait of her surrender.
A momentary uncertainty coaxed her one step forward.
It’s Nikolaus.
Your lover. You can’t get enough of the man’s kisses, his masculine smell, that easy manner he has of bringing you to orgasm with but a few flicks of his fingers…
Nikolaus opened his eyes. An overlarge grin appeared where Ravin usually saw a charming smile. The bastard’s eyes gleamed with twisted anticipation.
“Damn you.” She settled to a crouch, her back to the side of the kitchen counter, and cast her best glower at the devil. “What do you want?”
“No kisses?”
“You’ve not enough mints in hell to mask your brimstone breath.”
“Catty.”
“Horrified.”
“Really? Excellent!” he declared with a triumphant clap of hands. “My work is such a joy. The mortals have got it all wrong, you know. I’m not all about doom and gloom. It’s the shadows between the doom and the gloom that I so enjoy. Temptation. Disappointment. Struggle. Horrific wonder. Dismay.”
“Yes, yes, we are so proud for you. To the point, please?”
“Ah, yes, to business.” He leaned forward and tapped Nikolaus’s strong fingers upon the coffee table. “Obligation number three.”
About time. And then she was out of this bastard’s radar for good. One soul returned to its owner. At least until true death arrived.
Ravin had no misgivings that Hell would be her final destination. Bring it on. Maybe then she could face those she had murdered—no,
don’t think about it
. She’d avoid Hell as long as possible—with soul intact.
She stood and bent at the waist, propping her palms on her knees. “I still haven’t gotten credit for redoing number two.”
“Right, then.” Himself-as-Nikolaus made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
Pain immersed Ravin in a dizzy whirr. She was flung bodily through the air, and landed at the base of the stainless-steel fridge, her back taking the brunt. Icy prickles radiated up and down her spine. But that pain was nothing to the burn scouring her ribs. Flesh parted and sizzled, the stench of burning witch smacked her with a foreboding punch.
Punishment for her sins. For loaning out her soul. For murdering innocents. A punishment she would take and cry to the heavens so the angels would know her voice and fear her for all the right reasons.
And it was done. She fell forward, landing on the floor on all fours, panting against the pain, but managing to smile, because she knew she’d received a slash across the second tally mark.
“Happy?” Himself inquired gleefully.
“You know it.”
She settled backward and fitted herself against the fridge, propping her elbows on her knees. Wheezing, she drew in oxygen, restoring balance to her dizzied senses.
Balance. It was all about bringing stability back to her life. One obligation to go, and then Ravin Crosse was on the way to that goal.
“So what’s the final job?”
“You’re going to love this one,” Himself said, with a wink and a glide of his palm over Nikolaus’s long glossy hair.
And Ravin knew, without doubt, that she would not like a single thing about obligation number three.
“You know of Truvin Stone?”
“Of course. Interim leader of tribe Kila while its former leader—”
“The indomitable—and rather sexy, if I do say so myself—Nikolaus Drake.”
“—er, takes a break to recover—”
“From your devious handiwork. Such a twisted mess your world has become, Ravianna Crosse.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Just so. Though…” He danced over to the mirror again and tore aside the collar of Nikolaus’s shirt to study what lay beneath. “I must say the flesh shows little sign of damage. Shall I account that to blood sex magic?”
“What about Truvin?” she insisted hotly. No way was Himself going to get any more out of her about what went on behind closed doors—albeit broken, wardless doors—with Nikolaus Drake.
“Oh, nothing. Just wondered if you knew Stone.”
Ravin lifted a brow and grit her teeth. “The obligation?”
“I do adore the direction Mr. Stone has taken tribe Kila. They’ve become more like the animals their kind are, don’t you agree?”
Of course she agreed. Vampires. Animals. Same thing. Except Nikolaus. That man provided a perfect example of not succumbing to societal expectations.
“You don’t want Nikolaus to return to the leadership?” she wondered.
“Do you?”
Now, that was a question she hadn’t seen coming. Ravin considered all that she wanted, and all that she could not control.
If Nikolaus did return to Kila in his present bespelled state, it could prove disastrous for the vampire leader. His tribe mates would smell the witch on Nikolaus and they would
know
. And phoenix or not, Ravin wasn’t sure how well the tribe would receive a witch lover. She could guess. The result would be violent, aggressive. He would not survive. And if he did, he would be ostracized.
The kicker would be if the spell
were
broken before Nikolaus returned. Because she wouldn’t be around to care one way or another for what became of him—the vampire would finish what he’d set out to do—kill the witch.
Did she believe that is what would happen? She had to at least consider it.
On the other hand, if Nikolaus did return and successfully took over leadership, she suspected a war between Nikolaus and Truvin would ignite. Such a clash could only assist her in reducing the vampire numbers.
Do you want them reduced now?
“I have no opinion,” she offered.
“That’s not true,” Himself argued. “You have a world of angst exploding inside that delightfully plump bosom.”
“Eyes off my body, asshole.”
“Difficult not to notice something that’s always
there
. Anyway!” Himself clapped so loudly Ravin winced at the clobbering to her eardrums.
He picked up a stray blood bullet from the floor, inspected it, and then crushed the glass. Ravin’s blood dripped over his fingers—Nikolaus’s fingers.
Himself licked the crimson liquid languorously. When he looked to her, blood painted Nikolaus’s lips. “Girl, you do like to play with fire. I like that about you. You’re unpredictable. Falling in love with a vampire?”
“I have not.”
“Have, too.” He stood and filled the space before her without so much as a step forward. Nikolaus’s dark eyes peered deep into her absent soul. His hands bracketed her face, drawing her to stand in a ghostly sinuous move that orchestrated her limbs without her volition.
He leaned in, ready to kiss. “Tell me you love me, Ravin. Be true. No one is ever true nowadays. Surprise me with some honesty.”
He even smelled like Nikolaus. Dark leather and raw aggression, sweetened with desire. And touched like him, gently, so gently his fingertips caressed her jaw.
Ravin eased forward, touching the man’s mouth with her parted lips. “I do,” she whispered. “I am true to you, Nikolaus.”
He kissed her away from the world. Into herself she coiled and once there, she spread out her arms and released it all. So easily he touched that spot that reacted with a pleasurable scream.
Ravin gasped back the climax before it could completely be born. Fleetingly, she realized her faux pas. Too late. Hot moisture between her thighs. Orgasm rushed through her. She gripped Nikolaus’s shoulders and cried out.
With but a kiss. From the darkest evil to ever touch her soul.
“That was spectacular, sweetness.” He patted her on the head even as the shudders softened in her limbs and she began to cringe away from Himself. “Good little naughty girl. You shall be a treat.”
“I…” Loose and melty, her limbs would not support her. Ravin clutched the granite countertop, falling forward onto it.
Oh, wretched witch. To what further depths will you descend? Can you plunge any deeper? Forget balance, you need to surface and paddle for your life.