Focusing inward, Dez summoned her inner force. A cool violet electricity began at her core and illuminated out through her extremities.
Connecting to the seawater that crashed against the beach not two hundred yards from her back porch, Dez focused it to humidity and then to mist. Harnessing the power of the air and water elements, she summoned its energy through her spirit, altering it, refining it.
"I love a good storm," he called.
She heard him land another step. The wooden railing wobbled and creaked. She had to get that fixed.
Lightning, too? she wondered, gleefully thrilled he could have no comprehension of what was to come.
Power hummed in her being and the control felt exquisite. It stirred above her head. It had been a while since she had drawn on her water skills, but they hadn't depleted a bit.
Lightning crackled inside the house. The rockslidelike thunder of a downpour startled even Dez.
And then the rain began, right over the stairway, focused on the vampire. But no summer rain shower was going to keep back the vampire who had run shouting, yet determined, through her rose vines.
Stirring her hand before her, Dez conjured the increasingly heavy rain into a funnel. A shock of lightning snapped at the vampire, singeing his back. He cried out at the pain of it. His footing faltered. He slid down the stairs, slick with tsunami-force weather.
Dez guided the gale sheet of rain after the vampire, as, no matter how he tried, he could not press forward. Arms up before his face, he gasped at the water, and the tornadic swirl eventually swallowed him. Sweeping him from the room, the storm carried the vampire outside, down the porch and past the protective rose vines.
Water clung to the storm, leaving not a drop in its wake.
Dez stepped down the dry stairs. By the time the storm had taken the vampire to the picket fence, she relaxed her tight hold on the elements, and the entire sky over Willow Cove crackled with lightning. A great curtain of rain blanketed the village.
And the vampire was nowhere to be seen.
"Parlor trick? Right back at ya, fixer."
Dez slammed her front door shut. Hands to hips, she looked over the damage that stretched from the hallway up to the stairs.
Minimal. A few stair boards would need to be pounded back in place.
But that fixer. Dez felt sure she hadn't seen the last of him.
He'd got in once. And now that the invitation had been violated to cross her threshold, it stood forever after. Dez would need to conjure new means to keep her home safe from vampires who were also witches who did the devil's bidding.
"I know why he's been sent," she said now, wistful in her sudden calm.
Surely he was not here on his own recognizance. Himself wanted the Grande Grimoire-and what a more perfect time to go after it?
Dez had nothing against vampires, so long as they didn't try to trick her, or kiss her without permission.
She traced a forefinger along her lip. The flesh was still warm, burnished by the intensity of the delicious lip-lock. He'd smelled equally as intense, focused and strong. His scent was unlike any of the hundreds of essential oils she concocted and used to create perfumes. Unique. And darkly sexy.Dez shook the thought from her mind. Now was no time to go soft with the enemy once again in her camp. The war; that is what had reignited Himself's curiosity for the book.
For centuries vampires and witches had been at odds. It was because of the Protection spell cast long ago. Once vampires had enslaved witches by drinking their blood, which also infused them with the witch's magic. When finally the spell had been cast, it made the blood of all witches poison to vampires.
And ever since, both sides had been trying to kill one another.
"This needs to end," Dez said. "And I think Himself will do it. If he can get his talons on the Grande Grimoire."
Which would never happen. Not while she still lived.
"No, he can't have in mind to end the war. That would be far too benevolent. What wicked games does that dark demon have planned?"
She shook off speculating on Himself's devious plot. Dez did not waste her energy focusing on evil. And to dwell overmuch on it only made said evil stronger, more able to pierce her fortressed home.
"I'm one lone woman," she said. "But I'm tough and wise. This fixer is strong. The strongest Himself has ever sent."
And the first ever to use sneaky seduction tactics.
"He won't win. He can't. Because if he does, then I will die."
Chapter 4.
I van Drake, soaked to the veins, slapped down his Centurion credit card on the counter. The hotel receptionist, smirking, and commenting how the rain picked up so suddenly, processed his card and handed him a room key attached to a small piece of driftwood.
Poor girl.
Ivan reached across the counter, gripped her by the back of the neck, and drew her in for a long drink. There were no witnesses.
And he was desperate to renew. Leaving her with a suggestion she'd gotten tired and fallen asleep on the counter, he licked the bite wounds, ensuring they would heal before she woke.
The room was down a walkway that sat directly on the beach. The ocean clattered with the heavy downpour. Ivan stomped through the rain, now oblivious to its force-because this stuff was nothing.
"A freakin' tsunami right in her house. That was some amazing magic."
He opened the door to his room and tossed the key aside onto an ancient television that looked like it belonged in the nineteen- sixties and was perched on top some olive-green shag carpet.
Shaking his head as if a dog dispersed water droplets about the room, he stripped away his wet shirt, took off his boots and then stepped out of the wet leather pants. The thorns had shredded both boots and pants.
Stalking into the bathroom, he retrieved a towel and patted himself as dry as he would get. He felt he would be wet for days.
Touching his shoulder, he jerked at the surprising tenderness of the wound. Right there, he'd been snapped by a lick of lightning.
Burned flesh smelled awful, but it was almost healed, and no scar would remain.
"Why can't I do magic like that?" He tossed the towel to the tile bathroom floor. "I have water magic. I should be able to do that." Whistling in appreciation for the witch's talents, he wandered out to the main room and flung himself across the double bed.
Naked, pissed-yet strangely in awe-he reached back for the pillows and threw them across the room to land on the top of the desk. He shoved down the comforter because that was a piece of nasty. The thin sheets received his body and he managed to fit himself into the dent in the center of the mattress.
Was he exhausted? Hell yes. It wasn't every night a man got picked up by a hurricane and spat out like a chunk of debris.
Go back. Do the job. This is your life, man, you don't stop until you get it right. The insistent coercion tingled like words spoken in his veins.
He was too tired to do anything more than close his eyes and drift to sleep.
Ivan woke to the sound of water dripping. Droplets landed on his face. Was he still in that damned storm?
Snapping upright on the bed, he blinked at the pale light beaming through the window. Not yet sunrise, but dawn danced along the horizon. Realizing he was naked, he clutched the sheet to his lap but, well, there was no denying a morning erection.
Water droplets pinged his back.
And then he smelled the brimstone.
Since when did Himself make two visits for a job? The Old Lad must be keen on getting that book. A grimoire. All witches kept a grimoire. What was so special about this one?
"Nothing worth explaining to your naked ass" came the reply from the shadows in the corner. "You failed me, fixer."
"I never fail," Ivan growled.
And he did not. Yes, he was chained to the devil and forced to do his dirty work. But when given a job to do, Ivan always did it right. This vampire never did anything half-assed.
"I need more time. There were...obstacles."
Himself chuckled. Hooves scraped the floor.
Ivan did not turn around.
"I knew she would challenge you, but I must admit surprise at how masterful that challenge proved." Talons clinked against glass, and again the water spattered across Ivan's back. Himself was dipping into the pitcher on the bedside table. "A little rain scare you away, Drake?"
"This witch is...different."
That was no excuse. It was a cop-out, actually. Over the past seven years of servitude, he'd scared the hell out of wraiths, blood ghouls, werewolves and shaken-down war demons. One petite witch shouldn't even make him sweat.
"She's powerful," Ivan said.
"Indeed."
Drake felt the bed move, as if someone was sitting next to him. Not a comfortable position to be in, his bare ass facing-ah, hell.
Ivan snapped up the sheet, and as he lunged off the bed, he winced to look over Himself seated so casually, legs crossed. And then he felt the usual urge to supplicate move through his muscles, and before he knew it, he was on one knee, bowing and spluttering out, "Master."
"'Bout time you remembered your place, half-breed."
The term usually put up Ivan's ire, but coming from Himself, it gave him wonder. "A half-breed you were hungry to get your hands on."
"Touche." An obsidian talon tapped a tight black muscled jaw. "Failure is not an option with this mark," Himself said. "I'll give you all the time you need, Drake. That is how important this task is to me. And perhaps a suggestion. I know this witch. She has a weakness."
Like kisses?
For a few moments, standing on that porch with the stir of vicious vines creeping at their feet, she had been his. And he hadn't been considering it a trick. He'd dove forward, enjoying the moment-and then the coercion had kicked in and he'd shoved her off him and marched across the threshold.
Bastard.
It was what had to be done.
He could still recall the scent of her blood. Just a few minute drops. Apricots. Sweetly pungent.
"Her heart." Himself tapped his exposed ribs, which likely had never enclosed a pulsing, red heart. "She's known true love only once. And that was long ago. She pines for it. For connection." The words slid out on a prolonged slither.
"You're suggesting I seduce her?"
"Aren't you the quick one to pick up the ball? Good boy, Drake. I'll be checking in."
And Himself disappeared in a wisp of brimstone.
Released from his supplication, Ivan clutched for the baseboard of the bed. Pressing his forehead to the laminated wood, he closed his eyes and choked on the lingering acrid odor.
Seduction? That was certainly a new trick in his arsenal. Never had he used seduction to persuade, punish or annihilate any of his master's problems before.
"Seduction," he said resolutely. "I like the sound of that."
It was three in the afternoon, and not a single customer had stopped in to the shop. Elise Henderson had strolled by moments earlier, nose in the air and blue hair glistening in the sunlight.
"Like I expect that old coot to stop?"
Dez dusted the counter display of perfume oils for the tenth time. She'd finished filling the two dozen online orders in her e-mail box this morning. "Think I'll close up early today."
She'd opened the shop two years ago and called it Sweet Alchemy. Dez loved to craft unique perfumes from essential oils, and she had thought it would be a hit to open the store across the street from the city park.Brian Smith had been hot for her when she'd first moved to town. It hadn't taken him long to lure her into bed. She was a grown woman; she could have sex whenever and with whomever she wished. But when Brian had asked about her irresistible allure, her offhanded comment, "Maybe I've bewitched you?" had been taken seriously and spread throughout the town.
They actually believed she could be a witch who lured innocent men into her cackling clutches. Add to that her propensity to dress eccentrically in velvets and laces, and an I-don't-give-a-damn attitude about how much flesh she showed, and, well, there you go.
It was a group attitude she was quite used to, for it had followed her for centuries. Did enlightenment really take longer than a dark age?
One thing to be thankful for was that they didn't burn witches anymore. Not the mortals. Nowadays she had only to keep an eye out for vampires wielding matches.
Dez didn't bewitch any of the perfumes she sold in the shop. Well, most of them remained unspelled. There were occasions when she knew the customer needed some extra help, so a touch of magic was warranted.
And there were days she wished she would have put a tongue-tying spell on Brian Smith. But she wasn't vindictive. Magic had a way of returning to the user the same force he or she put out.
Her online store was actually ragingly popular, and the few customers she did get in the brick-and-mortar store were usually fans who had traveled to seek the source. Made her feel good that people all over the world enjoyed her perfumes.
But for some reason she wouldn't be completely happy until she'd won over Willow Cove.
What was wrong with her? She wasn't a mean person. She rather liked chatting to strangers and getting to know them. But people in this town actually walked across the street to avoid her. It was bizarre. It hurt her feelings.
"For someone who's been around as long as I have, you'd think there'd be nothing left to hurt."
And yet, she had been around a long time. And most of those years had been spent keeping the world at a distance. She did that well. It was a requirement as keeper of the Grande Grimoire. But lately, the pining feeling for connection would not relent.