Michele Hauf - Captivating The Witch

“I, uh...” He actually cringed from her, which gave her pause. She sat up straight and tugged at her skirt hem. Really? Those faery tales he’d been told as a child must have been some doozies. Probably featured the classic hag. Oh, how inaccurate they could be. Most of the time.

“You said you wanted to ask me things,” he offered as if tossing the suggestion out to deflect her sudden sway toward romance. “Ask away.”

“Awesome,” she said with little of the enthusiasm she should have.

The man had the weirdest ability to attract her while repelling at the same time. She shouldn’t take it personally. But when one was kissed so well and thoroughly, it was hard to not want more.

Perhaps since they were in his office he assumed a work attitude. Though it was late, she had no idea if a secretary lingered in an office down the hall or even if his henchmen were on the premises. Business it was, then.

Kicking off her shoes, she pulled up her legs and leaned an elbow on the back of the couch so she faced him. On the floor, her shoes righted and snapped into an orderly side-by-side position.

“What the hell?” the demon asked.

“My OCD magic. I like order.”

“And control, as you’ve mentioned. But really?”

“I can’t control it. I used to control it, but eventually the urge to straighten got so strong it took on a life of its own. It works in about a five-foot range.”

“So things snap into order as you walk by?”

She nodded.

“Weird.”

“Really?” Toggling the fragrant wine goblet in her hand, she asked, “Says the corax demon who can shift to raven form.”

“More than one raven—an entire conspiracy. And that’s not weird. It’s genetic.”

“It’s still weird. Does it hurt? How is it controlled?”

“It stings like a mother for two seconds and then I don’t feel anything but the freedom of flight. Multiple times over. When I’m in that form, all the ravens fly in sync and are controlled as one by me. But if I need one part of me to do something, I can break off and fly solo. It’s complicated. Of course, shifting takes a lot out of me. I don’t do it often. Driving usually gets me wherever I need to go.”

“Is that feather on your neck related to ravens?”

He stroked the tattoo, which appeared as soft as a feather and seemed to undulate under his finger as if touched by a breeze. “It is. It’s not a tattoo but a demonic sigil. Unlike a tattoo, the sigils simply appear on my skin. It’s not ink but darker pigmented skin cells. This feather is the top of the complete sigil that stretches the length of my spine. All corax demons sport something similar.”

“That’s fascinating.” She leaned forward but cautioned herself from reaching to touch him. Much as she wanted to nuzzle her nose against his neck and breathe him in, she would not go there. Not when she could sense his need to lean back as she neared him. “Were you born here in the mortal realm or did you come from Daemonia?”

“Mortal realm, born and bred. I have a certain distrust and dislike for those from Daemonia.”

“Why?”

“My opinions are not important to your research, are they? Let’s stick to facts and avoid the personal.” He tilted back the rest of his wine and got up to refill, and then he returned to the couch with the bottle and topped off hers. He remained a good distance from her. Which annoyed her. “Next question.”

Nothing personal? He was protective of himself. Perhaps she’d read too much into his incredible kisses. Way to anticipate a fabulous date night. Not.

Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted details more than she wanted kisses.

Yeah? Tell yourself another lie, Tamatha.

Shaking off the nuisance inner voice, she allowed her eyes to glide about the office to the marble walls and across the windows. The desk and wine cupboard were topped with the same black marble streaked through with silver mica. Above the vanity sat three objects on separate shelves, which had been lit by halogen beams before she’d requested only candlelight.

“Is that an alicorn?” she asked of the object on the center shelf. “If so, I’m stunned.”

“I buy and sell objects of magical nature. And yes, the three items are a genie in a bottle, an alicorn and a bit of angel dust on the third shelf.”

Wow. A genie in a bottle? He’d better not let that loose or he’d be responsible for a world of hurt. The angel dust intrigued. It was terribly expensive to buy at the Witch Bazaar, and she’d never the interest in testing its efficacy. Angel magic was the most powerful of all magics in the mortal realm. But if handled improperly? The witch may wish herself dead as opposed to experiencing the brutal backlash.

But the alicorn continued to draw her interest. Unfortunately, fascination was quickly overwhelmed by a sadness that tugged at her very core.

“There’s so much positive energy leaking from the alicorn now that I’ve cleansed the room.” Her heart shivered. “I could almost cry. Did a unicorn get slain?”

“I’m sure it was taken from a dead unicorn,” Ed offered.

She gasped at his utter lack of concern, or perhaps he simply hadn’t such knowledge. “Unicorns don’t die, Ed. They are immortal. Oh, that’s awful.” She sipped the wine, not wanting to consider the alicorn anymore.

“Back to the questions about me,” Ed said. She suspected it was an attempt to divert her from the alicorn. Good call. Maybe he was more attuned to her feelings than she suspected.

Very well. What else did she want to know, beyond that he could buy an item that had likely been stolen from a living being and had caused it much pain? Don’t think about it! Her eyes strayed to his desk, which harbored only a closed laptop. She had no idea what he did. Buying and selling magical objects? He employed henchmen, as well.

“What do you do, exactly?”

“That’s a faintly personal question.”

“I mean here. In this office. What’s your job? Is it to do with the collection on your wall? Is it related to you being a demon or is it a means to a living?”

He scruffed his fingers over the back of his head. “Let’s say I head an organization dedicated to keeping the peace.”

“That sounds entirely too heroic for—”

“For what? A demon?” He sighed and propped an ankle over his knee, rapping his fingers on the couch arm. “What are you wearing that keeps me at a distance from you? Is it a protection spell?”

“Huh? Oh. But I thought you...”

She thought he’d wanted to keep it all business. But instead he wanted to get closer? The man’s duality was aggravating. Of course, he hadn’t kissed her since she’d arrived. Unfortunately. And did his aggravation over not being able to get close to her have to do with his wanting to kiss her?

And why couldn’t he— Hmm... She hadn’t thought of that. “I always pull on a white light when I do a job. It protects me from any rogue elements or vengeful souls that I may not have control over.”

“And demons?”

“From most breeds, actually,” she said. “You can feel it?”

He tilted his head back on the couch, closed his eyes, then smiled. When he sat upright, he turned to her and touched her hand but retracted quickly as if bitten.

“Sorry,” she offered.

“You must not have had the white light on earlier today when we kissed.”

“I didn’t. Your thugs surprised me and I wasn’t calm enough to call it up.”

“Could I ask you to take it off now?”

The look he gave her melted her insides and made her question if he’d asked her to take off her white light or, instead, her clothing. Yes, please?

She swallowed softly. “Depends.”

“On my reason? I don’t expect you to trust me, Tamatha. Or to feel safe. But I have kissed you, and... I’d like to do it again. But we can’t do that unless I can sit closer to you and feel comfortable. It physically hurts me to be this close to you now. It’s like tiny electric sparks are emanating from your body.”