Nibbling on her lower lip, Anabel handed Wynter a box of vials. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather give them something lethal?”
“They’re being loud, not threatening,” said Wynter.
Anabel looked toward the living room window that gave them a clear view of their quarreling neighbors. “But they have claws and fangs and can shift into monstrous beasts.”
“What’s your point?”
“They could kill you. They could kill us all.” She rubbed at her throat. “They’ve probably already planned our murders step by step. Being torn apart is not a fun way to die, trust me. I once died during a wolf attack. Lycans are even bigger and deadlier than full-blooded wolves.”
“You were attacked by a wolf?”
“It was rabid. My guards didn’t even do anything to help me. Personally, I think they let me die on purpose because they hated my father.” Anabel’s nose wrinkled. “He tended to fly into murderous rages. Even killed my brother while caught up in one. And launching the Massacre of Novgorod didn’t do his rep any favors.”
“The Massacre of—Wait, are you talking about Ivan the Terrible?”
“Well … I just called him Papa.”
Wynter gave her head a little shake. “Okay. Well. Thanks for sharing.” She tightened her grip on the box of vials. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
Outside, Wynter casually walked down the path toward the gate. She was totally ignored by the two males yelling in each other’s face while several lycans fanned out behind each of them. She’d heard enough of their disputes to know that the tallest was Diego and the other was Elias. They were also both Alphas.
Wynter tutted. “Now boys, is all that shouting really necessary?”
Diego snarled at her, his fists clenched. “This ain’t your business. Go toddle back inside.”
“Now that wasn’t nice.”
“I’m not nice.”
“I’m thinking she already noticed that, asshole,” snarked Elias. He might be shorter than the other Alpha, but he was more powerfully built.
Opening the gate, Wynter began, “What I’m wondering is … why do you argue amongst yourselves so much when, in doing so, you’re giving the vampires what they want? I mean, they hate that you outnumber them, right? It suits them that you’re all at each other’s throats.”
“I don’t care what does or doesn’t suit them fuckers,” Diego sneered.
She hummed. “I don’t think that’s true. I don’t see how you could really be so indifferent to them. I’ve heard what derogatory stuff they say about lycans. Their kind hunted yours at one time, right? Their sharper senses were your downfall. There was even a period when they captured, brainwashed, and used a bunch of you as their guards. That’s why they still call your kind their bitches. And don’t they still tease you for having weaker senses?”
Diego’s nostrils flared. “There a point to this conversation?”
“Yes. You see, I can help you. One of my crew, Anabel, is extremely talented when it comes to potions. She makes all sorts of weird and wonderful brews. She’ll actually be selling them as of tomorrow. Some will be designed for demons, some for vamps, some for your kind etc., etc.” Wynter pulled a vial of green liquid out of the box. “This baby here can sharpen lycan senses.”
“No bullshit,” she said. “The effect wouldn’t be permanent, of course. It would last about three months. Either of you guys want this free sample?”
Diego gave her a brittle smile. “My parents warned me not to accept potions from strangers.”
“It isn’t poisoned or anything. Here, I’ll prove it.” Wynter pulled off the small cork and took a sip of the minty concoction. Of course, nothing happened. “There. See. All good.”
“Did it work?” Elias asked.
“On me? No. This is designed to work strictly on lycans.” She looked from one Alpha to the other, a challenge in her eyes. “So, which of you wants to try it? I guess this is where we find out who’s the biggest, baddest Alpha around—”
Diego snatched the vial and knocked back the potion. For a few moments, he merely stood there, clearly dubious. Then his back snapped straight, he blinked rapidly, and shook his head hard. The tension slipped from his body, and his eyes widened. “Fuck.”
Wynter smiled. “My girl’s good, huh?” She took another from the box and offered it to Elias, who didn’t hesitate to accept and drink the potion.
His physical reaction was much the same as Diego’s. “Jesus Christ.”
“You can call those freebies,” she told them. “Like I said, the effects will last about three months. You want more after that? Well, I can be persuaded to sell them to your two packs at a discount, what with us being neighbors and all. I can even be persuaded to ensure that Anabel doesn’t create a sense-sharpening potion for vampires. That way, you’ll have an edge on them.”
Diego narrowed his eyes. “And what do you want in return?”
She shrugged. “It’s really pretty simple. Stop arguing outside my home. I realize that neither of you want to cross the other’s territorial lines and that this strip of land here is the only neutral ground between your turfs, but it’s also my home now. And Anabel … she can be a little jumpy. Most things make her nervous. Including all the yelling. If you keep that up, she’ll stop making those babies. And who could blame her for that?”
Elias twisted his mouth. “We’d get a discount, and she’d agree not to make potions like this for the vamps?”
Wynter dipped her chin. “Yup.”
Elias finally nodded. “We’re gonna want more of those.”
One of the lycans behind Elias sidled up to him. “It’s that good?”
“It’s that good,” Elias confirmed.
“As I said, they’ll be on sale as of tomorrow.” She cut her gaze to a female near Diego. “Nice nail art. I’ll bet it comes right off after you shift, though, right?”
“Obviously,” she said, though not too rudely.
“Another of my crew whips up her own bespelled cosmetics and stuff,” Wynter told her. “She makes nail polish that will not only actually stay on when you shift but still be perfectly intact when you shift back.”
Her lips parted. “You’re shitting me.”
Wynter smiled. “Nope. She made it for herself. She can shapeshift, so if you see a small black cat with painted claws, that’ll be Delilah.” Really, Delilah could shift into a cat of any size, but she mostly used the form of a domestic cat … unless deep in battle. “She’ll be selling her products tomorrow, too.”
“Where?”
“Here. Baked goods will also be up for purchase, thanks to Hattie. Xavier’s the best at tarot card readings, if you’re interested in those. And me? Well, if you have a weapon you’d like to be made a little more … interesting than it already is, bring it to me. We’ll be running a sort of one-stop-shop. You should check it out. Now, I gotta go, I have some more free samples to give out. You all enjoy the rest of your day.”
Wynter sought out leaders of several species—minus those who’d refused to employ her or her crew—and offered them free samples of potions that would appeal to them, telling them all about the upcoming one-stop shop. Each interaction went pretty well, since the leaders all tried the samples and were impressed by the effects.
The box of vials empty, she headed back home. She was approaching the corner of her street when she noticed Maxim.
Spotting her, he altered his course and made a beeline for her. “Priestess.”
“Wynter is fine. How are you, Maxim?”
“I’m well, thank you. Cain would like to see you.”
Being sent for like this couldn’t be good. But even as her stomach sank, her hormones perversely fanned themselves.
“Follow me,” Maxim added. “I’ll escort you to him.”
Trying not to feel like she was walking the damn plank, she trailed after him as he led her through the bailey and toward the Keep. Curiosity dimmed her nervousness. She’d wondered just what it would be like inside. Wondered what sort of home would appeal to someone like Cain.
Passing two guards, she and Maxim strode through the thick wooden doors. As they walked through the arched halls of the castle, she saw that it was a fusion of both the old and the new. She wouldn’t have thought the two styles would go well together, but it somehow worked.
Even with the modern amenities and state-of-the-art features, the place still had an Old World feel with the carved columns, ornamental arches, beautiful flooring, and the domed, frescoed ceilings. The Keep also boasted an impressive collection of paintings, sculptures, ceramics, and other artwork.
Maxim led her outside, across a courtyard, and through tall iron gates that made her think of a cemetery. “Stay on the path. It’s important.”
“Okay.” She trailed behind him once more, and then they were in a garden that was like no garden she’d ever seen before. It was gothic and brooding.
Flowers were everywhere in shades of black, scarlet red, and burgundy, including Black Dahlia and Bleeding Heart Dicentra. There were also some night-blooming plants that she knew would glow and give off intoxicating scents after dark.
She recognized some ancient herbs that were often used in forbidden magick spells. There were also lots of vines on the wall ruins that were scattered around. It wasn’t until one of the vines moved that she realized not all were vines. Some were snakes.
Choosing to ignore that little nugget, she continued admiring her surroundings as she wandered down the twisted path. She particularly liked the moss-covered urns and gargoyles that bordered a bog-like pond. A complicated rockery caught her eye, and she realized that all the rocks were actually skull-shaped.
Finally, she and Maxim reached a little nook. Seated on a wrought-iron bench, Cain locked his dark eyes on her. Her insides again did that twisting thing, and warmth bloomed low. The damn immortal stirred up everything feminine inside her.
It wasn’t only his looks that did it for her. She was self-aware enough to know that what really rung her bell was that Cain wore power. Embodied it. It was in the depths of his eyes, the timbre of his voice, every single sensual move he made. And, well, she’d always had a weakness for dangerous men. It would no doubt one day be her downfall.
Her inner monster eyed him but didn’t move. Not quite hiding from him, but wanting to watch him without being sensed … like a tiger might observe its prey from the underbrush.
“The Bloodrose Priestess, as you requested,” said Maxim.
She felt her eyelid twitch. “Really, Wynter is fine.”
Cain nodded at him. “Thank you, Maxim.”
The aide left the way he’d come, and then she and the Ancient were alone. Apart from the many serpents nearby, that was.
“This place is amazing,” she said.
Cain tilted his head. “Most don’t use the word ‘amazing’ when they describe my garden.”
“Then they’re not really seeing it.” They were probably too distracted by the obvious danger, because many of the snakes here were highly venomous.
He hummed. “How are you liking Devil’s Cradle so far?”
“It has exceeded my expectations.”
He stared at her intently and … Gah, she didn’t like it. Nor did she like the way her skin heated or her hormones were playing fucking hopscotch. Not much rattled Wynter, but this chemistry spooked the shit out of her. It made her feel vulnerable and off-balance.
He sort of … uncurled as he stood, sensuous as the snakes surrounding him, and prowled toward her. She cursed her pulse for quickening, for responding to all that latent strength and contained power. She felt both threatened and turned on at the same time. So much sexual tension thickened the air she was surprised it didn’t hurt to breathe it in.
His nostrils flared as he stood before her. “I like the smell of your magick. Jasmine and black pepper. It hums with chaos. So much potential for destruction.” His gaze flitted over her face, broody and far too perceptive. “You like the taste of all that darkness, don’t you?”
To be truthful, yes, she did. She liked what she could do. She liked how easily she could do it.
“Would you remove death’s mark from your magick if you could?”
She licked the inside of her lower lip. “Anyone would if they could, right?”
His mouth hitched up. “Such an evasive answer. You’re rather fond of giving those.” He paused. “So, you threatened to hex Grouch’s shop?”
Blinking, she almost drew back. “I didn’t threaten him in any way. He accused me of meaning to hex his shop.”
“Hmm, not according to him.”
“He’s really saying that?”
“To all who’ll stand still long enough to listen,” Cain confirmed.
“Knowing it would eventually get back to you, and that you’d summon me to deal with it, right?” Motherfucker.
She was not getting punished for something she didn’t do. But that might well happen, and she might have to grin and bear it, because she couldn’t leave this place yet. The problem was … she didn’t believe the entity inside her would stand for that shit.
Really, she wasn’t so sure that she’d successfully manage it either. It wasn’t in her nature to stand down, admit defeat, or allow herself to be intimidated—hence why she again held his gaze steadily.
“Ah, there’s that hunter stare again,” he said, an almost imperceptible note of amusement in his tone. Like she was a puppy barking at a Rottweiler stupidly thinking she stood a chance against it.
“The what stare?”
He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. It wasn’t a flirtatious move—she sensed that right off. No, there was a challenging glint in his eyes. He was testing her, pushing her, trying to make her uncomfortable.
“When we last spoke, you watched me with the stare of a hunter,” he said. “You saw the level of danger in front of you, but you remained calm. Collected. At ease. You’re doing it again now. And like last time, you’re also ready to lunge at a moment’s notice. Even knowing that I’m far more powerful than you, you’d still strike first if you thought I meant you harm, wouldn’t you?”
“I have no idea why that makes you smile.” And damn if that smile didn’t make her best parts tingle.
“You won’t need to act in your own defense today, little witch. You said you didn’t threaten Grouch. I believe you. After all, you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” His gaze dipped to her mouth, which promptly dried up.
Why yes, yes, she would lie to him if it was necessary. But she couldn’t admit that, so she gave him a different truth that sort of answered his question. “I own my shit. If I had made any such threat, I wouldn’t have denied it.”
“No?”
“No.”
Cain studied the witch’s face, caught the glimmer of secrets in her eyes. “Hmm, I’m not sure I believe that.” Oh, she might very well be a person who would confess to and take responsibility for her actions, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d bullshit him if she felt the situation warranted it. She was fearless enough to take that risk—he knew that from the glimpse he’d gotten of the core of her being.
“I like your soul,” he said. “I’ve never before touched one that has so much to give. It beats with grit, inner strength, guts, and drive. It isn’t stained with foul emotions like so many I own or have rights to. It might be undead, but it’s not a flickering candle that’s close to burning out. It’s a roaring fire. Black fire.”
“You talk about it like it’s a pretty, shiny new toy.”
Hmm, maybe he did. Cain liked to collect rare things—art, books, objects. He’d never had rights to an undead soul before, nor one that held so much promise. “I’m sure it’ll be a fun toy to play with.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
Oh, she’d find out soon enough.
“There’s nothing special about my soul,” she said. “I’d bet most of them are ‘roaring fires.’ You have people coming to you all the time to make deals, so you’re used to seeing the souls of those who are greedy or envious or chronically dissatisfied. You’ve forgotten that there’s more to people than that.”
“Not all those who bargain their soul do so for selfish reasons. Some wish to save the life of a loved one, find safety for those they care for, or perhaps locate a person who has gone missing from their lives. Desperation is a powerful feeling. It can make a person do all sorts of things they’d never otherwise do.”
Biting her lip, she conceded his point with an incline of her head.
Seeing her teeth digging into that fleshy lower lip, he was tempted to tug it free with his thumb and then replace her teeth with his own. His body tightened at the thought.
It felt good to really want something. More, it felt good to feel that there’d be some satisfaction in having it. After eons of nothing being out of your reach, you ceased to yearn for things with any true intensity because there was no real gratification to be had from always getting what you desired. But Wynter … he fucking burned for her.
And he would have her.
He’d need to be careful with this one, though. She was sharp. Too sharp. He had more secrets than he knew what to do with.
“Do you ever get people asking to have their soul returned to them?” she asked.
“Yes. Some find that whatever they sold their soul for wasn’t quite as gratifying as they’d expected. That particularly happens with fame. Once they tire of its price, they come crawling back to me looking to wangle out of their contract, fairly oozing regret. A wasteful emotion, really.”
“You don’t have any regrets at all?”
“They tend to eat at a person. If you’re going to live an eternally long life, you can’t afford to have regrets. They’d drive you insane.”
“Some might say you are insane.”
He felt his mouth twitch. “Oh, they might. They do. They may even be right.”
“You don’t sound too concerned about that.”
He chuckled. “On an entirely different note … the sole male in your coven, is he your lover?”
A line formed between her brows, and she shook her head.
Satisfied gripped his gut. “Good.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I don’t like it when things are in my way.”
Wynter stilled as the implications of that sank in. Her body was totally up for dancing the horizontal tango with him. But nothing about that would be wise.
He moved closer, boldly pushing into her personal space. “Just so there are no misunderstandings, I want you. I want your taste in my mouth. I want my cock in your body. I want my fingers in your mind.”
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, very little can surprise you. Even less can pique your interest. People become too easy for you to read. Too predictable to be entertaining. But you … you’re difficult to get a handle on. Even now, nothing in your expression is telling me what you’re thinking. It’s incredibly frustrating. I want to be up here,” he added, tapping her temple.
Yeah, well, she didn’t want him up there. As for spending a night in his bed … that idea held way too much appeal for her liking. She embraced her sexuality; she wasn’t afraid to explore or admit to her desires—there was a certain power in that, really. But this wasn’t a man who’d quite simply fuck her. He was far too dominant, far too used to control, for it to be that simple. “I’m not interested in warming your bed.”
“You’re interested. Oh, you don’t look it. I don’t see any trace of arousal on your face.” He very gently tapped her cheek with his finger. “But I can read your body much better than I can read your expressions. You let people see only what you want them to see, don’t you? It makes me wonder what else you’re hiding.”
She was hiding that she’d reached the unfortunate conclusion that she was fucked in the head. Wynter wasn’t used to being at a disadvantage. Her magick was a force that was almost as dark and deadly as the monster inside her—both those things made her very good at killing. Plus, she was trained to take down any breed of preternatural, and she was confident in her ability to take care of herself.
But as she stood in front of this immortal, she knew that none of it meant anything. He could overpower her in an instant. And that only made her want him more. So it was official—she was indeed fucked in the goddamn head.
“You’ll be attending the festivities tomorrow evening, yes?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. We’ll talk more about this, then. Or maybe we’ll skip the talking.”
She went still as something seemed to stroke over her very being. Something old and dark and powerful. And the sensation … it was like nothing she’d ever before experienced. It was as if every nerve-ending went up in flames. Little bumps swept over her skin, and cold fingers danced down her spine.
Cain hummed. “I’d wondered if your soul might be unresponsive, what with it being undead, but it isn’t. Far from it. When we last talked, you asked if my being able to touch your soul meant I could cause you pain. I can. But I can also make you come harder than you ever have in your life. There’s nothing more sensitive than the soul. It’s just one big erogenous zone.” He gave her a pointed look. “Think on that.” He turned his back on her—a silent dismissal.
Shaken in more ways than one, she took the hint and left, following the winding, twisting path. She didn’t speak as Maxim escorted her out of the Keep, her thoughts a massive jumble.
She’d known Cain wanted her, so his declaration hadn’t come as some great shock. It hadn’t been entirely expected, though, either. When a being was as other as Cain, you couldn’t really ‘expect’ anything of them.
Damn, she still felt a little tingly from when he’d stroked her soul.
Stroked. Her. Soul.
Now that she knew exactly what he’d meant by how sensitive a person’s soul was, she was hoping there’d never be a time that he’d decide to demonstrate what kind of intense physical pain he could now inflict on her.
I can also make you come harder than you ever have in your life.
Well, she wasn’t going to think about that.
After crossing the bailey, she headed straight home. Her entire crew was scattered around the living room, drinking tea and looking a little drained. They were no doubt tired from how hard they’d worked to get prepped for their ‘shop’ opening tomorrow. Not that it was stopping Delilah and Anabel from sniping at each other.
“What’s going on?” asked Wynter.
“She”—Anabel jabbed a finger in Delilah’s direction— “is blaming me for the wolf attack I told you about. She’s saying it was my fault that I died that day.”
“If you hadn’t stepped foot on his territory, it wouldn’t have happened,” said Delilah. “You could have stayed away. But oh no. You pulled a Little Red Riding Hood, and you paid the price. Simple.”
Anabel’s lips parted. “Paid the price? I was eight years old. Have some compassion.”
“It interferes with my choices.”
“It should. Maybe if you let it, you wouldn’t have started brewing your precious karma potions and then you wouldn’t have a bounty on your head.”
“I don’t know what you all have against my acting on behalf of karma. My family’s been doing it since our line first began. It’s in my blood, and I’m proud of it.”
“I don’t know how you can possibly be proud of being a descendant of the Black Annis, even if it does mean you can shapeshift into a monstrous saber-toothed cat. That crone was evil.”
“She was brilliant.”
“She ate children.”
“Well, we don’t talk about that.”
Wynter lifted a hand. “All right, just stop. I shouldn’t need to point out that this conversation is heading nowhere.” She blew out a breath.
Xavier studied her. “You look kind of flustered. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Wynter. “Just annoyed with Grouch.”
“The blacksmith who pointed a sword at your neck?” he asked.
She nodded. “One and the same. He’s telling everyone that I’m going to hex his shop. It got back to Cain, who then had Maxim escort me to him.”
“You went to see Cain?”
“Not willingly.”
Xavier studied her face and then grinned. “He made a play, didn’t he?”
Damn the perceptive bastard. “No—”
“He did.” Xavier let out a teasing chuckle. “I doubt he even believed Grouch. He wanted you there so he could hit on you.”
Delilah leaned forward in her seat. “Xavier’s right, isn’t he?”
Wynter grunted.
Anabel rubbed at her arm. “This isn’t good. Not at all. What are you going to do?”
Wynter knew what she should do—stay the hell away from this person who could possibly ferret out her secrets. Besides, she didn’t want to be an immortal’s toy. But … he’d like the chase. She saw that in him. Saw that he wouldn’t easily give up. And she couldn’t delude herself into believing that she’d manage to hold out against him.
Would it be better to give in, enjoy one night, and then move on? Maybe. She really didn’t know.
“I’ll tell ya what you’re gonna do, Wyn,” began Delilah. “You’re gonna let yourself have this. Gonna let yourself have him, to be more exact.”
“Del—”
“You need to get laid, okay. Let him do the laying. I’m thinking he’ll be good at it.”
“Let’s just—”
“No, no hemming and hawing. Trust your Aunty Delilah, this is what you need. It’s what your body needs. Tomorrow, you’re going to primp yourself up and choose an outfit that flashes some camel toe—”
“And I’m walking away now,” said Wynter, spinning on her heel.
“What’s camel toe?” asked Hattie.
Xavier burst out laughing.
