Hmm, to think about fairies..."Wonder what Dominique is up to?"
She'd made a friend for life of Dominique San Juste during the Belle Epoque in Paris. He usually breezed through her life once every decade or so. Last she heard, he'd found himself another fairy, and that love might even be enough to break the curse of his broken heart. He'd once loved a real angel who had fallen to earth.
Life was never easy when an immortal fell in love with a mortal. Dez had loved mortals in her lifetime but had never allowed herself to grow attached to them.
"I do have friends," she muttered, as she selected a few vials of essential oil. "Okay, so friend." Singular. Not plural, as she'd like it to be.
But she was working on that.
Her perfume business had been a natural progression from something that was innate.
The year after she'd moved into this house, she'd expanded the porch out back, doubled it in size and made every wall a window.
She trained the wild roses not to grow over the windows. The vampire repellent was necessary, because even though she did not fear them, their hunger to see her burn must not be ignored. Now this still room was where she concocted her perfumes and experimented with new spells.
The sunset on the ocean glinted. While she went through the mundane ritual of crushing and blending to make oils, her mind drifted to last night. Dancing in the rain with a handsome vampire-slash-witch.
A vampire and a witch? It was incredible, but nothing was out of the realm of possibility. She had lived long enough to learn that.
Hell, when angels fell and learned to love changeling fairies, well then, anything was feasible.
She wanted to look into his parents, discover what Ivan Drake was about, but she knew to send out feelers would alert parties she didn't want to tip off. Not that Himself didn't already have a keen bead on her via his latest fixer.
"Maybe it's worth the risk? Himself is already aware of me."
Knowing one's enemy was never a bad thing. And such a multifaceted man as Ivan presented limitless challenges she must be prepared for.
"I'll scry on it later, at midnight." When her psychic energies were most clear. "Certainly can't hurt to know what I'm up against."
Because last night's attempts at seduction, while awkward, hadn't been awful. Nor had they been particularly devastating to the enemy. She'd welcomed Ivan's interest. So rarely did a man seek to spend time with her without then expecting a spell or ward against a spell in return. For some reason mortal men avoided Dez, even though she knew they hadn't a clue what it was about her that repelled him.
She had spent centuries perfecting a cloak of indifference, of protection, about herself and against those poor mortals who would foolishly become involved with her.
So Ivan's closeness assaulted her in ways she wasn't prepared for. The lack of companionship of late, of closeness and touching-hell, it had been months since she'd had sex-had allowed Ivan to easily peel away an outer layer from her. He'd seeped into her being, and he was still there. Making her wonder about him. Causing her to imagine scenarios such as furthering their embrace in the sanctity of a bedroom where she could study that erection up close.
Dez smirked. How quickly she could be reduced from stoic and distrustful to lusting."When you should be thinking of him as an opponent. By the goddess, Dez, how desperate for a man are you? When you'd welcome Himself's fixer to touch you? Get your game face on, girl. Whatever that means."
Again she smiled. She never talked to herself. Heavens, but she needed a girlfriend, someone to share her secret thoughts about men with. Someone to offer her good old-fashioned advice about dating and lust and bad boys.
"He's about as bad as they come." And this time, Dez giggled.
Swiping a swath of hair from her face, she cast a glance outside. The sunset rippled orange across the silver water. A dark silhouette perched upon the rocks that edged her property and dropped to the beach.
"He would not. Is that-Ivan?"
Of course he would. She should expect nothing less.
Tugging off her apron and tossing it aside, Dez then marched outside. The breeze tinkled the bells she'd tied about the eaves of her house. Evening dew sprinkled her feet and somewhere close a bullfrog croaked.
She wore a loose black robe of stretchy rayon that hugged her curves and trailed behind her ankles across the grass. Ruffles spilled about the wide neckline and over her wrists and fingers. The satin frogs had long since fallen away, so she clutched the unfastenable opening of the robe at her stomach.
"You're trespassing!" she called as she neared the imposing silhouette.
Even clad in what looked like a business suit, he more resembled one of those high-class bodyguards the entertainers toted with them than something she'd expect to see shaking down demons and imps.
Ivan started toward her. "I couldn't ring the doorbell. Your attack roses sensed my first step through the front gate. I was hoping you'd notice me waiting outside."
Dez stopped near one of two fist-wide iron poles that she never did use to hang up wet clothes. It was apparent the man was going to walk right up to her. Did he have no sense of boundaries?
Why? You let them down last night. Naturally he feels entitled. Idiot witch.
Quickly, she summoned a white light to surround her.
Ivan put up his hands, like he would grab her by the shoulders, but his palms connected with the invisible shield, holding him back about a foot from her body.
"This isn't necessary, Dez."
"I don't take kindly to trespassers. And it is evening."
"Sun's still visible. I don't completely belong to Himself yet." He nodded toward the bells on the eaves, which tinkled out an offbeat tune. "What are those bells for?"
"They keep back the devil. I told you that."
"I'm no devil."
"That has yet to be determined."
Ivan bowed his head and closed his eyes. Concentrating?Dez held her ground, keeping the white light strong. Yet she could sense he tapped at her energies, feeling about the edges of her spiritual aura.
"Did last night mean nothing to you?" he growled. He literally growled!
"Soaked to the bone and groped by a man intent on stealing from me? Hmm, let me think about that one." But not too long, because if she were honest with herself, yes, the night had been intriguing.
"You-"
Suddenly his palms penetrated the white light. Dez could feel the intrusion as an invading presence permeating her flesh.
Ivan's body lunged forward, and with nothing solid behind her to stop his palms, his body crashed against hers. Wrapping his arms around her back, he held her gently, but firmly.
"-tempt me beyond all reason," he finished.
The robe barely covered her breasts. And the fabric had splayed high on her thighs so her pubic hairs tickled across the fly of his dark velvet pants. Velvet? The man dressed like some kind of vampiric rock star.
But this-this embrace-was not what she intended.
You're not being honest with yourself.
Right. But the lie was intended to put back the enemy, not conceal her own vacillating emotions.
Yet now he held her, Dez relaxed her compulsion to push him away. He'd growled at her. Right now his entire being stretched tight, ready to snap. She tempted fire.
And fire was never safe for witches.
Tugging back her arms, she didn't fight hard when it was apparent he did not want to release her. And to shake her shoulder back would drop the robe down to reveal more than was safe for propriety.
You don't subscribe to propriety, Dez. What the hell?
Never had a man so challenged her very sense of self so that she couldn't think straight, let alone grasp any of her truths.
"There's but a sliver of sun on the horizon. It is officially night, fixer. You promised me truth. So tell me, you're under his command, aren't you?"
"Of course I am." The growl in his voice, bruised with a deep hush, crept warmly over Dez's flesh. "Himself's shadow prickles up and down my spine as the sun slips away into the west. I belong to him. I will get that book."
He nudged his nose into her hair. A strange divergence from his violent claim to win. And yet, not. He had already confessed to use seduction against her.
"Tell me one thing, witch. Is the book in a tangible place? Can I dig, seek, or uncover it somewhere?"
"No."
"It's bespelled then? Only you can access it?"
"Exactly. Now you tell me one thing. And please, step back." She pressed against his chest, but he remained an unmoving statue.
"Please?" He relented, breaking their contact, but the shadows between them remained. He was close enough to bow his head forward and kiss her on the mouth.
Another kiss might completely undo her determination. Even in the darkness she could see his mouth, slightly parted. Not a mouth from which to refuse a kiss. And memory of its delicious dance across hers stirred a wanting ache at her breast.
But she had no intention of giving him the lead in this power play. Dez tugged the robe closed and swept the long skirt up around her legs. Right now she ached there, at her nipples and in her belly, but she wasn't wet for him. She wasn't that easy.
"What do you want to know?" he wondered. "Ask me anything."
Curling an arm behind her to wrap about the cool iron clothing-line pole, Dez spun a quarter turn away from the overwhelming presence of him. The sea winked at her.
Breathing room. That is what she required to keep a clear head.
And insight into the enemy's heart.
"What is it," she asked, "that compels a man to sell his soul to Himself?"
"Indeed?"
Ivan's footsteps crushed the dew-bejeweled grass. He stepped away from her, back to the rock where he'd originally been waiting.
Had she posed a question that made him uncomfortable? Small surprise after she knew his manner was to cause discomfort in as sly and coy a manner as possible.
Bother, it was always the big lugs who clammed up whenever feelings were introduced. Introspection? Likely the fixer did not care to examine his own heart.
Dez walked over to him and stood at his side, fingers toying with the heavy fall of her skirt. The sensation of his discomfort compelled her closer. This enigma? He appeared so confident; this falter startled her.
"I didn't sell my soul," he finally said.
And he'd promised her only truths. Huh.
"I can't think of any other way for it to happen," Dez challenged. "Himself doesn't take unless it has been offered, sold, or otherwise contracted."
"Otherwise contracted." What should have been a chuckle sounded more like an abbreviated scoff. Ivan slammed his arms high across his chest. The air about him felt rigid, cold. "I was born into this world already promised to Himself."
The intensity of his confession took away Dez's breath. This powerful man? And he was obviously distressed to have made such a confession.
So there was another way of losing one's soul to the devil.
"Your parents?"
Ivan nodded. Before she could counter herself, Dez reached to stroke her hand along his arm. The tailored silk suit sleeve hid not a twitch of muscle nor the warmth of his being. Not dead, then.Some vampires were dead, literally brought to a weird sort of life with blood, while others-the majority of them-were brought close to death during their transformations but never truly died.
For some reason, knowing he was alive made a world of difference to Dez.
"You must understand, I don't blame them," he said. "It was an accident. Mostly. My parents are repentant about it, and it gives them no joy to see me suffer. But I can't be sure it was an accident. I have my doubts."
He thought his parents had purposefully sold his soul to Himself? Yikes. Dez would hate to meet those two.
"So you've belonged to Himself since birth?"
"He didn't come for my soul until seven years ago. He waited until I'd grown, come into my full vampire strength and witch magic.
The Old Lad wasn't going to waste time training me. My parents unknowingly did that. They thought to make me strong, a force to stand against Himself. But I've learned it's foolish to think anyone can stand against the prince of darkness."
"Yes," she muttered.
Suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation, Dez cast a gaze across the fading silver streaks wavering upon the ocean. A truly wicked knowing could only make her sympathize for Ivan.
"You have to know, Dez-" he took her hand and pressed the back of it to his mouth "-this man who comes to you at night begging for the book? He's the fixer. Ivan Drake is not him. But I can't fight the coercion."
She stroked a thick hunk of hair from his forehead. Himself must coerce Ivan into working for him. Rather, he owned the man's soul; there wasn't a lot Ivan could do to refuse a task, she felt sure.
"If you resisted?"
He stubbed the toe of his boot into a thicket of grass. Pebbles skittered down the cliff to the white sand beach below. "I won't.
Or rather, I do, but I know I can only make the effort of resistance. I can never completely refuse. I know better than that. My parents' souls are the threat he holds over me. And the souls of any I should care about. It's not worth the risk. So I do what I must. And I do it well. There's not a task you can set to me I won't complete or die trying."
"Because failure is not in your arsenal."
"Exactly. But I fight it even while I'm achieving the task. It's an incredible drain. Makes me crave blood something fierce. There's not a night following an encounter with a mark I don't need to drink blood to restore the energy I've expelled."
Dez suppressed a shudder. The blood drinking did not disgust her, but knowing Ivan was forced to feed to survive did. Normally a vampire could go for weeks without blood. Some, centuries old, fed but a few times a year.
Never would she allow a vampire to bite her.