Sylvia Day - Spellbound

He came toward her with his sultry, long-legged stride. She was held motionless by his stare, forgetting to breathe until her lungs burned, then she gasped and cried out as his hand cupped the back of her head. His strong fingers pinched strands of her hair and tugged roughly, bending her to his will. She stared up at him in a haze of fear and desire, the flush of anger on his face enough to frighten her. And arouse her.

“I’m keeping you,” he rasped, just before he took her parted lips with possessive hunger.

Having thought him lost to her, she melted in his arms. He anchored her, even as he brought her to heel. His breathing labored, he turned his head, his cheek rubbing against hers, absorbing her tears.

“The Council will punish you,” she cried, her voice breaking. “I—I can’t bear to lose you.”

“But you were about to.” He licked deep into her mouth, making her moan and open to him, silently begging for more. He obliged her, groaning, his tongue stroking along hers with so much skill it left her breathless. One arm supported her back, the other hand cupped her breast and kneaded it with the aggressive pressure she’d come to relish and crave.

“Let me be the instrument of your revenge,” he whispered darkly, his lips moving against hers.

A gift. For her.

Victoria swallowed hard, stunned by his statement and the ramifications of it. “Max.”

He held her gaze. “You have your business interests to occupy your daylight hours, but your private hours are mine. You will serve, obey, and please me. You will never question an order or deny me anything. I’ll do things to your body that will test your limits. Sometimes, you’ll want to tell me ‘no,’ but you’ll do what I want regardless. That is your commitment to me.”

He hugged her tightly to him, burying his face in the tender space between her neck and shoulder. His voice lowered and came gruffly: “My commitment is to care for you, and provide for you in every way. If you need your revenge to be free of the past, I will deliver the means to you. You are my greatest treasure, Victoria. I will always value and treat you as such.”

Her arms came around him, her lashes wet and vision blurry. “I want the Triumvirate.”

To give her this, he would have to skirt the very Council he’d aspired to for so long. There was more to that long-ago night than she knew, and the danger was mortal.

Max nodded his understanding and agreement without hesitation, but the tic in his jaw betrayed him. “Will you love me like you loved him? Can you?”

She released a deep breath in an audible rush. Her heart reached out to him, revealing the many facets of her affection and adoration, the feelings she had for Max so different from what she’d felt for Darius, but just as powerful, and growing every day. She was beginning to see how much of herself she’d kept away from Darius, and how much of herself she’d already shared with Max—the man who’d shown her how to embrace her nature and revel in it. Safe in his embrace.

“Yes, Max,” she promised. “So much.”

His power swelled in response to her passion, flowing into her, and she enhanced it. The soul-deep thrumming that coursed through them was almost overwhelming. They would have to train, relearn everything they knew, find a way to control it. Together.

I can’t wait to get started. Max’s confident voice in her mind gave her courage.

The task ahead wouldn’t be easy . . .

You don’t like things easy, kitten.

Victoria offered her mouth to him and he took it, his chest rumbling with laughter as her lips curved against his in a catlike smile.

A quarter to midnight, the witching hour, Christmas Eve

T here was an indefinable something about the tall, darkly clad man traversing the sidewalk. That mysterious quality compelled lingering glances from every window-seat reveler in Richie’s Diner. He appeared not to notice, his gaze direct and unwavering, his purpose set and immutable.

It was hard to pinpoint what it was that arrested attention. Was it the impressive breadth of his shoulders and the way his inky black locks hung past them like a mane? Was it the way he moved with sensual purpose, every stride elegant yet predatory? Or was it his face, classically yet brutally gorgeous, all hard planes and angles, rigid jaw combined with beautifully etched lips?

Perhaps it was simply that it was Christmas Eve, a time when he should be home, warm and safe with the ones he loved. Not out in the snow, alone and unsmiling.

He had eyes of gray, like a brewing storm, and an air of complete confidence that clearly stated he was not a man to be crossed without penalty.

“That man could fuck a gal to a screaming orgasm. Guaranteed,” Richie’s wife said breathlessly to her cousin.

“Where do I sign up?”

The diner was closed to customers, yet filled to capacity with Richard Bowes’s family and friends. Children manned the soft-serve machine, making shakes, while the men cooked and told bawdy jokes in the kitchen. Frank Sinatra sang holiday songs through the speakers, and laughter filled the air with the joy of the season.

Pausing at the corner, the hunk outside held out both arms, and a lithe black cat that had not been visible from the window booths jumped agilely into his embrace. It had been snowing hard earlier and featherlight flakes still drifted in the random gusts, yet the animal’s luxurious ebony coat was unmarred by the weather. The man, too, did not appear to be wet or cold.

He held the feline with reverence, his fingers rubbing behind its ears and stroking down its arching spine. It climbed his chest and looked over his shoulder, emerald green eyes staring back at the diner occupants. Nuzzling the top of its head against his cheek, the cat seemed to smile smugly at the coveting gazes from women in the diner.

There wasn’t a single Bowes female who didn’t wish to be that cat.

For a long moment, the flashing Christmas lights in the windows cast rainbow hues on glossy fur and rich locks, creating a unique yet beautiful holiday scene. Then the man continued on.

He crossed the street and rounded a corner, disappearing.

Max Westin growled softly at the feel of a rough feline tongue stroking rhythmically across the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“Kitten . . . ,” he warned.

You’re delicious , Victoria purred in his mind.

“I can see why upper-level warlocks don’t keep Familiars.” He held her closer to ease the sting of his words. “You’re a distraction.”

I’m necessary, she retorted, laughing. You couldn’t live without me.

He didn’t reply; they both knew it was true. He loved her with a deep, saturating abandon and relished the bond they shared as warlock and Familiar. She was with him every moment, her thoughts and emotions melding with his, her power augmenting his. Even when physical distance separated them, they were always together. He couldn’t breathe without her anymore. She was a part of him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once a Hunter for the Council that ruled over all “magickind,” he had been assigned only the most difficult of tasks—vanquishing those who had crossed over into black magic and could not be saved. He had been groomed to join the Council, an honor bestowed so rarely that few remembered the last time such a promotion had occurred.

Then, They’d tasked him with one last assignment—collar or kill Victoria St. John, a Familiar driven feral by grief over the loss of her warlock.

Max would never forget his first sighting of her and how powerfully she’d affected him. Slender and long-legged, with green sloe eyes and cropped black hair, she had the inherent sensuality of a cat and the body of a woman built for sex.