Michele Hauf - Captivating The Witch

“Sorry, Tamatha of the pretty green eyes.” He clasped her hand and pulled it up to look at the side of her smallest finger. “Since we’re asking about skin markings, what’s this tattoo mean? Beatus?”

“Be-aye-tus.” She pronounced the word properly. “It’s Latin for ‘blessed be.’”

“Special. A witch offering a blessing to a demon? Wonders never cease.”

“I suppose I should be more cautious around you, but I can tell a lot about a person from his kiss.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re trustworthy.”

She didn’t miss his wince and then told herself she was being too trusting. She knew nothing about this man. But that was why she was there. To learn. And to learn one must set aside caution and dive in for the experience.

“So you must kiss a lot of people to have developed such a skill?” he proposed.

“I never kiss and tell.” She traced a finger down the feather on his neck and delighted when it fluttered under her touch. “I’d like to see them all.”

He waggled a finger at her. “That would involve removing clothing. And I suspect you’re not that easy.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She tugged down her skirt and started to sit, but then immediately turned to lean into him. Because she couldn’t not look into his eyes. “But kissing you is something I’d like to do more of.”

“You perplex me.” Grabbing the wine bottle and their empty goblets, he motioned she move aside so he could stand. “You say you want to ask me questions, do research,” he said and set the bottle and glasses on the vanity, “but your body says something entirely different.”

“What about you? The man who claims to be wary of witches and yet you were the one to ask me to take off my white light so you could get closer.”

“Touché. You don’t have a lot of fear, do you?”

“You keep assuming I should fear you. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

There was. She could tell in his pause. Must be that thing he said he’d wanted to ask her, but that would make her not like him. Should she ask him about it? Asking might bring whatever they’d started to a screeching halt. Must be the history he had with witches. Well, she’d have to change his mind and teach him that some witches were trustworthy.

Tamatha stood and placed a hand on her hip as she paced before the couch. “Let’s make a deal. We both want something from each other, yes? And whatever it is you want from me, I am going to assume it’s not a simple office cleansing.”

He nodded and swiped a palm over his mouth, and behind that swipe she saw his smoldering smirk. It was sexy, yet secretive, and the unspoken lust in his eyes made her heart thunder and parts of her simmer and grow wet. Oh, so wet.

“Whatever you want from me is a doozy,” she decided.

“On the scale of trivial to doozy, I’d say you are correct.”

“Must be dark and dangerous if you’re so nervous about it.”

“I’m not nervous. Nervous is not a word in my vocabulary. I am confident.”

“If a trifle cautious.”

“Caution is smart.”

“Like I said, I can read a person, and you are nervous. You can’t stand close to me. You keep touching your face, fidgeting. And you won’t look me in the eye.”

“And you are too perceptive. But I’ll let it go because you’re so pretty.”

She twirled a finger within her hair. “You think?”

He clasped his hands together before his mouth and considered it a moment. Were it not for the black markings, he would appear a businessman standing in his high-tech office. An organization that sought peace? Dare she believe such a ruse?

“I need a witch,” he finally said. “At least, I think I do. It’s to do with my mission to keep the peace.”

So it was a mission? That was...big. And magnanimous. Yet what reason could he have to be so secretive about it?

“I feel as though I need powerful magic to help rectify the situation.” And at that moment his phone rang. He put up a finger that he needed to take the call. “Yes,” he said to the caller. “Another? I’ll be right there.” He tucked the phone in his inner suit coat pocket. “I’m afraid I’ve an urgent appointment.”

“Oh.” She bent to gather her wand and athame from inside the salt circle. “Right. It’s late anyway.”

“After midnight.”

“Yep, and I have work in the morning.”

“Where do you work?”

“In the Council Archi—er...hmm.” Should she actually reveal that to him? She hadn’t been told to keep it a secret. It wasn’t as though she worked with secret stuff. And most paranormal species were aware of the overseeing Council.

“The Council Archives?” he guessed. “Sounds like a bunch of stuffy old books.”

“It is, but books are awesome. I could live in the stacks, reading everything about all things. I never want to leave. My boss usually has to remind me to go home.”

“There is something about librarians that arouses most men’s imaginations.”

“Is that so?” She stood from collecting her things, then swiped the toe of her shoe through the salt circle, effectively rendering it but a broken circle of salt and no longer a protective barrier. “I’ve never considered myself a librarian. Bookish, I guess. But I know how to party it up. I’m down with all that.”

Ed chuckled. He took her hand, and when she thought he would lead her to the door, instead he kissed the back of it. Clutching a candle and the knife to her chest, she sighed at the chivalrous move. But when he licked her skin, she flushed to her core. Goddess, what would that feel like on other places on her body? Like her breasts?

“Tasting me?” she tried lightly.

“We demons can tell a lot from taste,” he said. “That’s a freebie for your research.”

“It’s only a freebie if you explain yourself. What can you tell about me from tasting my skin?”

“Let’s talk on the way out, shall we? That call was urgent.” He led her down the hallway, and as they waited for the elevator, he again clasped her hand. “I can taste the wine in your blood and a salty remnant of the pommes frites you downed five or six hours earlier. Possibly on your way home from our less-than-stellar encounter here earlier.”

“There’s a Greek restaurant down the street from my apartment. I love their fries and chicken gyros. Tell me more.”

“Your blood pressure is slightly elevated.” He winked and smirked. “I’ll attribute that to being here with me, your hand in mine.”

She shrugged, acquiescing to that one.

“You are indeed very powerful because I could feel those electric vibrations tingle at my tongue, as if the white light, but I can differentiate and know it is your magic. You’ve been on this earth for about a century...” He tilted his head. “I can feel the ancient ways in you, but not so old that I sense you were around preautomobile.”

The doors opened and they stepped into the elevator.

“You’re very good,” Tamatha said. “I was born in the 1920s.”

“I assume you’ve taken a source?”

“A decade ago.”

When a witch wished to maintain her immortality, she had to consume the live, beating heart of a vampire once a century. Witches called them sources; vamps called them ash. Nasty work, but immortality was well worth the mess and vulgar taste.

“And you emanate light,” he finally said. “And joy and curiosity. But I didn’t have to lick you to learn that. Such lightness is written all over—” he spread his hands before her to take in her shape “—this gorgeous piece of work.” He exhaled. “I’ve that thing to get to.”

And she sensed he was giving her an escape from what could turn into an evening of debauchery. That neither of them would protest. Yet she wasn’t quite ready to dive in so quickly with this intriguing yet deeply mysterious man.