Wallace blinked hard, and he put an arm around her waist, steadying her. He was in her head, and Palla was not an ocean, he was that which contained an ocean. There was no hole where her power ought to be. There was only the outside of the container.
“Oh, fuck me, Wallace,” he whispered. He took form in her thoughts, and it was effortless, having him there. Breathtaking. Heartrending. All this time. All this time. Her power had been there all this time, and she had been looking with the wrong eyes.
“Now that I know it’s there,” he said. “I see the shape of your magic.”
Palla was a demon. Not human. That came home to her with a crash.
“Yeah.” He laughed. “And you are a witch.”
The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, not the way it had been all those other times. But it wasn’t comfortable, either, and every so often panic welled up. Palla would draw away, become less vivid.
“You could make a link with me. Two way. Me in your head. You in mine.” It was strange, not being sure whether he’d spoken out loud to her. He arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“How?”
“Most witches, I tell them their magic is like a pool, and they can draw from it. It’s just like you said. That’s not right for you. I don’t even know if have the words. Not a reflection, but let’s say that’s how you’re seeing it. When you try the way we’ve been teaching you, it’s like there’s nothing there. But there is.” His arm tightened around her waist, and she leaned into him. “Yes. Yes. It’s fucking insane how strong you could be. You’ve been letting it stay hidden, because that’s how you stayed sane. That’s how strong you are, that you could do that.”
“Like I’ve been using my right hand all this time when really I’m left-handed.”
He put his mouth by her ear, but she knew he was talking directly into her brain, his thoughts appearing there. “You can do this. You make the others look like they’re dabblers.”
She laughed because, didn’t he know how to motivate her?
“Damn right. You’ve been handling yourself for years. You don’t freeze up over things you don’t understand. You’ll be fine. More important—” He cupped the side of her face and smiled at her, smirked really. “I’ve got your back.”
“You are such an asshole.”
“Don’t you know it.”
Her torso was snug up against his, and she closed her eyes to block out everything but that place inside her that she used to pretend wasn’t there.
“Come inside,” he said in a voice that sounded like sex. “Come inside where you belong.”
Around the corner. Into the reflection. Ignore the way she’d been told it worked. There was magic there, and she didn’t have to reach out and touch it, all she had to do was shape the container. She did, and reached for him, and power shivered through her, and there she was. In his head. Linked with him.
“Oh hell yes.”
She blinked a few times to orient herself.
“It takes some practice. Let it settle.”
“Don’t let go of me, I’ll fall.”
“Never.” He brought her closer to him. Until they were in an embrace. How had that happened?
She touched his cheek, and his gaze stayed steady on hers until she blinked again, and she saw herself. She was looking down at herself, her arms around her waist—not her arms, Palla’s arms. She flicked in and out of the state of awareness. Palla’s sensations about her, the lure of her magic, the danger Maddy had warned them all about, that sizzle that drew the magekind to a demon and a demon to a witch, that volatile combination of sex and magic. She traced a finger along the line of his cheek and felt both his skin under hers and his reaction to her touch.
“We could be in different rooms,” she said, “and we’d know what was going on.”
He set her back, and for a few seconds, her head swam. Her surroundings stabilized, and she was almost back to normal. Palla was still there, and there was still this two-way connection between them, and she had always been afraid of him on some level. Now she knew why.
Entelechy. A demon not born to humans. Because that was how the demonkind reproduced now. With humans. Everyone who knew about demons and the magekind understood that. From the few, many, by pairing with humans.
“We used to do this all the time.” He touched his forehead and then hers, but she already knew what he meant. “With the magekind. Centuries ago. Before everything went to hell, and it was nothing but us trying to kill or enslave each other.”
Images flashed through her head, emotions and memories that came with glimpses of people and places she’d never seen, and a sense of a Palla who didn’t have the bitterness of the creature before her now.
“Her name was Avitas.” His blood-twin. In giving voice to that name, his despair and grief became tangible, as if it were hers, too.
Palla allowed her to see the truth. What had happened those centuries ago. Christophe dit Menart, the mage who’d enslaved Palla when he was weakened and disoriented by the murder of half his soul. Jeanne, the witch who’d paired up with dit Menart long enough for them to make the talisman for Jeanne and a mageheld for dit Menart.
She relaxed against him. His memories stayed close to the surface. The things dit Menart had made him do horrified and appalled him still. He grabbed her beer off the counter and took a long drink.
“That wasn’t you,” she said. “You know it. You know. It was the mage.” She had to search again for the name because it wasn’t in her memories, it was in his. “Dit Menart. It was him. And Jeanne. There was nothing you could do. Nothing.”
He took another drink like it was no big deal. “I was there when dit Menart died. His wife killed him. Because he fucked her over, too, as bad as the rest of us. We knew what he’d done to her, the sick bastard. When she found out, she made him pay, and we got our freedom. First time I ever felt grateful to a witch.”
“We’ll get the talisman. We will.”
He put down her beer. Their link had settled, less intense, not as overwhelming. Probably a good thing. “I knew this would happen.”
“What?”
“That you’d figure it out. Or I would. Don’t give me that look. I’ve been working with witches long enough to know how it goes. Some are always better than others right from the start. Some take a little longer before they get good. A few don’t amount to much, but they learn to control themselves. I knew you’d get here.”
It was disorienting to feel his psychic reaction in the split second before he replied. He moved effortlessly between the levels of information exchanged between them; the psychic and the verbalized while she continued to have to separate out the two things and connect them to the correct bits of information.
“You’ll give Maddy something to worry about when you’ve had some time.”
“Thanks. I think.” Interpreting his facial expressions was as difficult as the rest. Was that slight smile in response to something she’d said, thought, or felt? Her problem with following their conversation got even worse when he verbalized his responses to her thoughts.
“Yeah, it works that way for us, too. I didn’t say it to get on your good side. I said it because it’s true.” That first part was a reply to her internal question about their mental connection; the second was a response to what she’d said, and she was about ten steps behind him.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“God I hope so. Because this shit will drive me nuts.”
“You will. I promise.” He pulled her smack up against him; torso to torso so he could growl in her face. Classic Palla. All the information she usually had about him said he was being his usual asshole, driven, self. Now, that was tempered by nuance she’d not been able to see. The way his magic formed another framework for assessment, the pull between them that he had held back before because he was kin, and she was magekind.
To keep her balance, she put her hands on the outsides of his upper arms, and it was as if a switch flipped to the ON position af
ter being stuck on OFF. Their conversation, her entire acquaintance with him, which had never once been about sex other than normal, fleeting thoughts, was now about nothing but that.
For him, desire had been there the whole time. His instinct for procreation, the natural draw of demon to magekind.
There wasn’t room for anything but the fact that her stomach dropped a million miles. Palla was wicked hot—no denying that—and that look of his said he thought she was just as delicious, and that was irresistible. No one could possibly be safer for her than Palla. They weren’t looking for anything. He didn’t want a relationship, and neither did she.
She struggled to separate her reactions from his, and it wasn’t easy. She kept getting distracted by his state of arousal and the fact that he was interested, and she knew he wasn’t human, and he liked that she was. She could have pushed away from him. Maybe should have. She didn’t.
He cocked his head. “This going to happen?”
It was such a matter-of-fact question she hardly knew what to do with it. He leaned toward her, and he was thinking all these things that completely and utterly turned her on, and that was answer enough, wasn’t it?
“Yes,” she said. “Yes this is.”
Chapter 11
The basic dilemma was this: keeping things uncomplicated and Palla’s urge to get horizontal. That battle lasted about two seconds, with a strong assist from the fact that she was a great kisser.
Considering she didn’t much like him, and how he hadn’t done anything to make her change her opinion about him being an asshole, she was into him. Them. Into feeling good, and hey, if he was making her feel good as he was feeling, that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? There was also his procreative instincts getting fired up. Not that he would or could do that. But that added to the general fucked-up-ness of how bad he wanted her.
Was he going to do this?
Hell, yes.
She melted against him in a physical surrender that was more about her desire than about her wanting him, and that was hot. That she was after pleasure, and fine with looking to him to provide it.
He felt he was up to the challenge.
They had this wild thing going with their low-level link, with the inversion of her magic working him extra hard. What was even hotter was that she was thinking about how much she used to dislike him, and maybe still did. But she was feeling good. Fantastic. Immersed in the physical, aroused, and owning it.
He ran a hand from the base of her spine to her shoulder and back down and then underneath her shirt. He had this vague thought that they’d be better off in his bed. Or hers, but her skin was soft, so soft, and he did not want to kill the moment.
Her hands were busy, too, pushing up his shirt, palms running over his belly and upward, and she made a low sound of appreciation that went along with a psychic twist of lust that lanced through them both, and she was all about seeing more of him. He was happy to satisfy any curiosity in that regard. He let go of her long enough to whip off his shirt, and wasn’t that a good idea?
Her eyes got big, and she looked him up and down and smiled like she loved what she saw, and, yeah, she did.
“Whatever you want, Angel.”
She grabbed his hand and headed for the hallway, pulling him along.
He tugged back, and she turned, her question already fading. She was getting the hang of linking up with one of the demonkind damn fast. “My bed’s bigger.”
Which she got before he said it. He swept her into his arms, and she held on while he walked the opposite way to his bedroom, and he was hard and ready to go, right now. She pressed kisses to the side of his neck, and then a longer one, with enough pressure for him to think about biting and the taste of her blood. If she was into skirting the rules, so was he.
Outside the door to his room, he put her down, her back to the wall, while he kissed her long and hard, tongues and mouths, and Jesus he wished he’d thought of this sooner because, link or no link, she had him hot and bothered. He twined his fingers with hers, and then he planted their hands on the wall above her shoulders. Her fingers tightened around his as she tipped her chin toward him.
The first thing he did was slide his mouth along her inner arm, midway between her elbow and wrist. A taste, and they’d been fucking flying. He rested his pelvis against her; there was no disguising his physical state. He put his mouth by her ear but kept a finger smoothing the skin along her inner arm.
“Yeah, Wallace?”
The lust in her gaze cleared some. She understood his question, the images he sent along with his recollection of how good her blood tasted; the sweet tang and the way the taste entwined with his magic. “Why?”
“Because it will make me hot, and I can blow your mind I’ll fuck you so good.”
“Oh.” She arched her back so her body pressed against his. “Promise?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in close enough for a kiss, without kissing her. “If you’re not one hundred percent satisfied, Angel, I will do it until you are.”
“I love your dedication.” Her low laugh turned him on. So did the amusement that rippled through her, and right after that the wave of arousal. This was going be so, so good.
He moved his mouth to her arm and licked once. He drew enough magic so his teeth were sharp enough to do the job, and his body trembled with the urge to leave this form. He turned his head toward hers. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
With his head sideways to her arm, he gave her a long, slow grin that put the daze back in her eyes. Then he kissed that tender skin there. Once. A second time. He breathed in and wrapped the fingers of his other hand lightly around her throat, palm down. He changed just enough that the side of his canine pressed against her skin. Just the pressure for now. He dragged his other hand down her torso. When he reached the top fastening of her jeans, he pulled at the button. He slid his fingers down her belly as he bit her. Hard enough to break skin. Hard enough that she flinched and then there was that sweet, rich scent, and the taste of her.
He licked away the blood, and more of her magic shivered through him, and if he’d not learned how to sense it, he wouldn’t have known it was there. He’d been with witches before, enough to know what human-born magic felt like, and this was different; richer, a golden, sun-kissed sky. Instead of a pool to touch, her magic flowed over him, around him, through him.
He kissed her again, skirting the edges of thoughts he shouldn’t be having. Deep, crude, slow kisses that were perfect in every way he could think of. Her magic stirred, and that got him more worked up. Her, too. He had his hand down her pants, and he was savoring the taste of her blood, and the fact that he’d changed a little to make that happen, and he hadn’t had sex in his non-human form for a very long time. It was risky and against the rules without full consent, so he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, but for the first time in a long while he wanted to.
Okay, so she wanted kids someday, but not today. That came through loud and clear, and he had to respect that no matter how good it would be for them if he changed. He was fertile in any of his non-human forms, and the magic worked to make conception just about a given.
Eventually, she pulled her mouth from his, and he drank in the shape of her lips—drugged, he felt drugged with pleasure and the promise of pleasure, while she said, “Bed. Please. Please. Please, take me to bed now.”
Lucky them, they were a few steps from his room. He pushed the door open and remembered to hit the lights so she could see. Not much. Not too much. He could see her just fine with the lights low. The only time he used his bed was if someone was over who didn’t know what he was, and he had to fake that he needed to sleep. He didn’t bring many women here. Hardly any. His sheets were pristine since the last time the service was in.
Wallace had him by the hand again, heading for the bed, but he pulled her toward him. Good sex was never wrong when all parties were free and wanted it. That all instead of both came with a specific history behind it, and she got all wide-eyed again
. “Really?”
“I was a blood-twin.” He liked that she didn’t have a problem with that. “Sometimes we looked outside just us.”
“You’re going to think I’m boring.”
“I think you’re the best thing that ever walked in here wearing too many clothes.” He grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled up. She lifted her arms just in time. He was going to drop her shirt where they stood, but then he remembered she always dressed nice so he tossed her shirt onto a chair and turned his attention on her and took a long, appreciative glance.
And no, she was not a shy girl about this, and he did like that. He moved into her personal space, and at the same time she unhooked her bra, and his brain dropped out of any conversation because naked breasts. Her naked breasts.
“Nice. This is nice. So pretty, Wallace.”
Without thinking, he drew a line from her forehead to the end of her nose, and there was a sizzle of power in the wake of his touch, and, what the hell, why not? Why not lay down some power? In his mind, he wasn’t human when he touched her and let his magic sink into her.
Her breath hitched.
“You like?” He drew another line, this time along the shadows of her collarbone.
“That feels good.”
“Good. Later, I’ll teach you how to do that to me.” He backed her to his bed, and when he palmed her breast, he was thinking this was the best decision of his life because her tits were just so pretty and the shape and heft in his palms, and the way she pressed toward him? More. More. More.
He got her on her back, grabbed the open fly of her jean and between them, they got them the rest of the way off. He groaned, losing himself more with each second. He touched and stroked—breasts that fit in his palms when he slipped a finger over her nipples. She arched, and she took the pleasure higher. That peak of flesh under his fingertip, tight and so sensitive, oh, she liked what he did for her. She told him what worked for her, through their link, or in words, by touch, by reaction, what she liked best.