Anya Bast - Witch Fury

Her lips parted a little and her warm breath trickled over him. There was an energy between them. Something hot and fierce. Something that had nothing to do with the way he was currently manipulating her seat.

Theo felt. . dangerous to her.

She suppressed a nervous laugh. “That’s very Zen of you.” He shrugged and released her hands. The little pulse of magick between her breasts died. “Everyone’s always training, teaching. It’s not necessary. Those skills are already a part of you. Natural. Organic. All you have to do is tap them.” “What if I burn the hell out of you in the meantime?” His full lips twisted. “You think my body can’t take a few more scars?” “I actually didn’t mean that wimp comment. I think you can take anything.” “Enough.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over one of the gashes on his chest. She fought the urge to euuuw out loud. “Now close your eyes, tap your seat, and concentrate on healing.” “Okay.” She did as he asked.

It was the same thing they’d shown her how to do at the farmhouse during those first terrifying twenty-four hours. She took some deep, even breaths and concentrated on the space between her breasts. The area warmed a little and began to tingle once she’d located it. The warmth spread down her arms, jumped between her fingers with little electric shots that she concentrated on keeping from Theo’s skin.

He was right. She could do this; it was a part of her. This was her, the part of her that had always been missing up until now. Now she was whole and it felt good .

The tingling warmth down her arms and jumping between her fingers gradually relaxed into a manageable heat, something that almost felt moldable. Instinctively, she directed it at the gash her palm covered.

Theo flinched and she pulled back a little, allowing him to once again settle against her hand. This time she regulated the heat better, concentrating on making magickal tendrils of a therapeutic nature, instead of a burning one. She allowed curative waves to sink into the injured flesh of his wound, promoting healing and knitting it back together.

Under her fingers the wound shifted and smoothed, the edges of the gashes coming together. The heat coming down her arm eased and she sensed she’d given all she could give.

Only by that time she was long gone, lost in the concentration it took to maintain the heat. Her breathing came deep and steady, keeping time with her heartbeat. She was slipping farther and farther away. .

Theo took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing the underside of her wrist. Her eyes came open slowly; they’d rolled all the way back in her head like she was in meditation. She focused on his face.

Theo continued to hold her hand and now her gaze, too. He had really beautiful eyes, a rich dark brown like the most sinful chocolate. The slow stroke of his thumb on her sensitive skin made bad things — or good things, depending on one’s perspective — happen lower in her body. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand away or to rip her gaze from his.

He released her hand. “All right?”

She blinked and came out of her trance like she’d been freed from a witch’s spell. . funny thought, that. She only nodded in response.

Theo looked down at his gash. “Incredible. I don’t think it will even leave a scar,” he murmured. “Weren’t we just talking about natural skill? It appears you have a lot in the realm of healing.” Sarafina focused on his wound and gasped. His gash was almost completely healed. She jerked her hand away and stepped backward. “I did that? Fire magick can do that ?” Theo studied the pinkish mark. “I’ll be honest, that’s a little beyond the ordinary scope. How do you feel?” “Drained.”

He grunted. “You expended a lot of power to accomplish this.” “What else can fire magick do?”

“All witches have their specialties. You’ll have to find yours.” “Okay, but what else can fire do?” Theo grinned. “Burn things. Explode things. It’s a great weapon.” He paused. “But I think maybe we just found out why you’re special, Sarafina.”

HOW TO CONTROL THE ATRIKA. NOW, THAT WAS A DILEMMA.

Stefan had thought that holding the thing they wanted most over their heads would compel their obedience. And, for the most part, the leverage he possessed had been effective.

For the most part.

Ironically, the Atrika couldn’t control their emotions very well. . or their libidos, it seemed. One would think such a killing machine would have no emotions, or their emotions would run icy and remorseless. Yet the heart of an Atrika beat wild and fierce, their emotions hot and strong. In a way they were like children, acting always from the id.

It made it damn hard to control them and Stefan had been working too long and come too far to allow Bai’s dick to screw it up.

“What should we do with the recalcitrant demon, sir?” asked David, a lanky water warlock. He looked so innocent, David did, so. . geeky. Yet David would slit your throat for a twenty-dollar bill. Stefan loved that about him.

David had been on his father’s staff. He’d been there the day William Crane had been pushed out the forty-story window of Duskoff International in New York City by Mira Hoskins, that little bitch of an air witch. He’d also been there when Isabelle Novak had caught Stefan by the balls — literally — a couple years ago. Both times David had escaped. He had a knack for survival, just like Stefan did.

“What to do with a recalcitrant demon? Oui , a question for the ages.” Stefan sighed and drummed his fingers on the boardroom table of Duskoff International and stared out the window where his father had fallen to his death. Just being in this room made rage boil the seat of his magick, made it shoot through his limbs like he was about to explode.

It made Stefan feel very motivated.

Thomas Monahan and his organization of weak do gooders had killed his father. He’d told them he’d make them pay and he would.

“Didn’t Boyle give you any tips for how to control an Atrika ?” “Boyle told me many things, but how to bring an Atrika to heel was not among them. That daaeman was loyal to his people.” “Of course, sir, silly of me to think he would reveal such secrets.” “ Oui . How is the air witch?” “Weak. She is depressingly fragile.” “We’re done with her. If you can’t break her to our cause, kill her.” “We cannot bring her to the Duskoff, sir. It seems she’s too cemented in her former life and lacks our aspirations.” David rolled his eyes. “She’s constantly crying for her husband and child. It’s annoying.” Stefan waved a hand. “Then do with her as you wish and dump the body when you’re done. We don’t need her anymore.” “Yes, sir.” David turned to leave.

“And send Bai to me. All I can do is try and reason with him. He’s already tipped our hand.” “Right away.”

It took Bai a long time to answer his summons. Long enough for Stefan to down two glasses of Scotch and become even more agitated. However, even though he had leverage over the demon, Stefan wasn’t dumb. You didn’t push an Atrika and expect to keep your head, leverage or not.

The demon entered and Stefan studied him for a moment over the rim of his glass. All the daaeman , regardless of breed, were tall and muscular. Physically intimidating. All of them — all that he’d seen, at least — were also good-looking in human terms. The Atrika were especially beautiful. Chiseled features, handsome faces. He’d never seen a female demon, but reportedly they were also attractive.

Stefan supposed their good looks had helped to lure women — and men — way back in ancient times to mate with them. It was a sort of weapon, built into their DNA. Perhaps he should be grateful, since it was those couplings, with a little magickal help, that had produced elemental witches. It was the daaeman from which all witches sprang.