Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) (2 page)

His appearance was camouflage meant to tempt a summoner into believing they understood his motivations and goals in allowing himself to be called to this realm. And though she had his favor now, he was not a being to trust.

Arioc reached down. He clasped the hand she held over the complex sigil of his summoning name and used it to tug her upward. A rough, masculine tongue took the blood from her fingertips and she wasn’t completely immune to him.

Lust pulsed downward, coiling in her belly and swelling her labia in a reminder that she hadn’t been with a man in quite some time. And wouldn’t accept another’s offer, now that she’d met Dylan Archer and the heartmate bracelet gifted to her by Aislinn had reacted in his presence.

“I hope you’ve summoned me to say you’ve given up on the human and wish to become my consort,” Arioc said, his voice the promise of ecstasy beyond imagining.

“No.”

“A pity.”

He released her hand to cup her cheek. He brushed his thumb across her lips, heated gaze boring into hers, daring her to capture the finger and take it into her mouth since she’d denied herself his cock.

“You hunger for physical contact,” he said, low-voiced. “You crave the joining of bodies and the
la petite mort
of release. Your need pounds against me with each beat of your heart. All these weeks and the human still hasn’t given you your due? Hasn’t staked his claim? Does he even know it cost you, to gift him with a charm that would help protect him against inadvertently encountering my kind?”

“I can wait for him.”

She’d known from the start their coming together wasn’t going to be easy. Dylan had fought the attraction. Denied it, just as he’d denied the possibility the supernatural existed.

He was a cop. She was a witch. It was a seemingly impossible hurdle to overcome, but she believed they were meant to be together.

Even if she hadn’t been in possession of the Elven heartstone, she doubted she would have been able to get him out of her mind. The chemistry between them had been intense, electric, commanding.

“I can wait,” she repeated. The advantage was hers.

Dylan wore a heartstone too. And now, unbeknownst to him, his partner, as well as all of the other members of the homicide squad, had some tie to the supernatural, including detective Miguel Torres—the reason she’d called upon a demon lord.

“He’s not why I wanted to speak with you,” she said.

“Too bad. You deserve better.”

Arioc’s hand fell away and she felt its loss, but then he intended her to. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I need help with a working. I believe I’ve figured out most of it, but I’m unsure I have it absolutely correct. It is meant to aid a demon.”

His features hardened. Heated eyes turned into blue ice. “What type of demon?”

“Incubus. Succubus.”

“Another lord’s slave.”

“Not any longer. This particular demon was severed from the dark realms. For the last few days it has lived fully in this world. Today its mortal body died.”

Arioc’s eyes narrowed. “The demon now possesses a human?”

“No. The demon is bound to a human by a familiar bond. I want to do for it what another witch or sorcerer was able to do, free it and pull it fully into this world with a mortal form.”

Warmth returned to his eyes, but it was like standing in front of a fire that burned cold. “You will need more than a simple working. To accomplish such a thing you will need my power channeled through the abyss where creation is possible. It will increase your debt to me tenfold.”

It’s what she’d suspected and feared, that such a shove would be necessary in order to give birth to a supernatural being in this way. “I understand.”

“Very well. Let me see what you have arrived at on your own.”

It was her cue to retrieve the chalk she used to mark sigils on the floor. He walked the inner circle first then the outer one, taking in the full design before guiding her through the corrections he deemed necessary and the places where additional sigils were needed.

When he was satisfied with the result he returned to the center, halting where his name was written. On the floor next to it, surrounded by a different spell working, was the medallion the lesser demon had originally been bound to, the now inert charm Miguel had touched, unknowingly creating the familiar bond and summoning his companion into existence.

Arioc’s eyes flashed red. His voice was a cool promise of death, a chilly contrast to the heat pouring off him as he once again cupped her cheek. “There are times when the temptation to kill you nearly wins against my desire for you.”

Despite the sexuality he exuded and his asking her to be his consort, Seraphine understood the desire he spoke of had far more to do with conquest and the usefulness of having a witch in this realm than it did lust. “I’m in your debt,” she said.

“And I will collect.”

With a final glance at the medallion, he stepped away from her and back into his own world.

Tension flowed from Seraphine with his departure, though safety was an illusion when dealing with demons and spell-workings like the one she’d soon attempt.

She took a steadying breath, then a second one before removing Arioc’s name and the circle containing it.

A knock at the door announced Miguel’s arrival.

She lit incense meant to soothe before answering it and leading him to the casting room.

“There’s choice here,” she said. “Reanimation. Or exorcism. I can sever the bond, casting the demon’s essence from this world and freeing you from—”

“No.”

She hadn’t thought he’d answer otherwise. She handed him the medallion with its restored workings. He put it on without hesitation.

“Now what?”

“Stand in the center of the circle. And try to relax.”

Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to proceed without giving him a final warning. “There’ll always be risk with this choice. Death is the only thing that’ll end the familiar-bond. The demon—”

“Former demon.”

She smiled. “The former demon will still need to feed the magic tethering it to mortal body and to life.”

“I figured as much. I can handle it.” He blushed as he added, “I trust Ian and Ianthe.”

Incubus. Succubus. Two sides of the same coin, and in this mortal world, a shapeshifter able to change its human form.

“Then we’ll start.”

She closed the door, leaving the room in darkness except for the candlelit circles. “Focus on the form you want the former demon to take.”

She began speaking softly, for a second time slicing her fingertips and dripping blood into the heart of a sigil so her power flared through the others, spiraling inward and ultimately joining the one that would reach through the abyss to Arioc, so he could join his magic to hers.

Lust pulsed through the room, roaring carnal hunger, the signature energy of a demon who feasted on sex. It was accompanied by phantom, flickering naked images. Male. Female. Ian. Ianthe. Ian. The mortal forms of Miguel’s lover.

In the center of the circle the detective panted. He closed his eyes, head tilting backward in what should be a private moment but couldn’t be, not if she was to continue to feed and monitor the spell.

Ian reformed, still ethereal body and hungry spirit though real in her eyes. He was as beautiful as Arioc but far less lethal when measured against his own kind.

As she watched, he became flesh and bone and muscle, his body pulled against Miguel’s. Claimed in a ready embrace and with the rub of cock against cock, hard organs separated only by the material of Miguel’s pants.

Seraphine’s flesh dampened. Her nipples tightened and her cunt wept. Her body reacted despite the hollow ache expanding outward from her heart at witnessing their reunion. Seeing it served only to highlight the loneliness she found in her own bed.

Male form gave way to female, a dark-haired, voluptuous woman with the same smoldering sensuality as the masculine version. She possessed a draw that was more than human though she was now mortal.

Seraphine ended her murmured incantations. The last part of it broke the link between the former demon and the medallion.

The kiss between Miguel and Ianthe ended. “Let’s go home,” he said. Stepping back, reality descending with a muttered, “
Mierda
. I didn’t bring clothes for you.”

His hands went to the front of his shirt. Seraphine intervened. “I’ll loan Ianthe a sundress. That’ll draw less attention if one of my neighbors happens to see you leave.”

Miguel laughed. “Good idea. No point in starting rumors of wild orgies.”

She smiled. “No. Though I suspect the retirees making up the majority of this neighborhood would enjoy the speculation.”

She left the room, retrieving the promised garment and returning with it. Miguel touched the medallion as Ianthe pulled on the dress. “What about this?”

“It’s just a piece of jewelry now.”

He slipped it beneath his shirt, hesitated then asked, “Have you heard of Talocan?”

“Yes. It’s a spirit place, not part of the dark realms, though the lords and ladies who rule there are said to have originated in the dark realm.”

“You mean they’re demons.”

Seraphine shrugged. “That word covers a lot of territory when you consider there are more hells than can be counted in total. The Christian religion has one, the Buddhists anywhere from eight to several thousand, the Hindus several million.”

Ianthe took Miguel’s hand. “Humans have a long history of vilifying the gods of conquered people and labeling them as demons. A name doesn’t make it so, though no mortal would wish to visit the place I left. Even one rife with evil would soon go insane.”

“And what about a witch who visits Talocan?” Miguel asked.

Seraphine could hear the worry in his voice, the lingering resistance to more fully entering a world where the supernatural was real and not the stuff of horror films or fantasy novels.

“I’m assuming you don’t intend to hang out a shingle and practice witchcraft.”

“Hell no.”

But she could tell her response had eased him, so she added, “Talocan exists primarily for those who are aware of it, people with cultural roots reaching back to the Aztecs.”

“Hispanics. Mexicans mostly.”

“Yes. Have you considered that being able to spirit walk could be useful for a homicide cop?”

He startled, but understood the implication immediately. “You mean talk to the dead?”

“Understand, their memories might be fragmented or completely lost. But if you learned to navigate Talocan, there might be times you could find victims and speak to them about what they remembered of their death and what led up to it.”

“It would be totally inadmissible in a court of law.” Truth, but his tone didn’t argue against pursuing the advantage.

“Each of us has to find our own way when to comes to balancing the supernatural against our everyday world. There will be times when the laws governing them conflict. You have a guide in Talocan?”

“My great-great-grandfather. I went to Mexico with my mother when she got the call. I was by his side when he died. He’s the one who claimed I was a witch. Before then…” Miguel shrugged. “The last time I dreamed of Talocan he said until I sorted things out in the living world, it was too dangerous for me to be there.”

“It would be if you were in denial of your own truths.”

The blush returned to Miguel’s face. Seraphine guessed it was lingering discomfort about his bisexuality.

“Yeah. I was,” he said.

“And now you’re not. The bond you have with Ianthe, Ian, makes it far safer for you to visit Talocan than it would be for others. It’s not a hell, per se, but it’s just like the living world. There are beings who enjoy doing harm.”

She looked to Ianthe for confirmation. “You can accompany him?”

“Yes.”

“But unlike Miguel, you’re aware? Not sleeping.”

“That is so. And because of my nature, I can see through illusion and recognize threats.”

Miguel frowned. “Isn’t there a way I can be aware too?”

“With years of study, and only then if you could reach a deep meditative state. That’s why the use of hallucinogens or some type of physical trial is the more common way to spirit walk.”

“I think I’ll pass on those. My grandfather said I’d have to find him if I needed him.”

“Think of him and Talocan when you fall asleep. An exhausted sleep works best.”

Ianthe’s smile promised sex. “I believe I can help achieve such a state.”

Seraphine laughed, then accompanied them to the front door.

Miguel said, “Dylan doesn’t stand chance. Not once he spends some time around you.”

“Thanks.”

“No. Thank you. For doing this for me.” He shot a look at Ianthe. “For us.”

Seraphine opened the door and stepped out with them to discover her niece sitting on the stoop. It was joy and euphoric rush immediately followed by the crash of impending hurt.

Chesna jumped up and charged into Seraphine’s tight hug. “I felt you doing the magic. That’s why I didn’t knock.”

A cold tide of fear swept in at just how powerful a witch her niece would be, trained or untrained. She kissed the top of Chesna’s head, rubbed her cheek against red hair the same color as her own. “Give me another second.”

Chesna pulled away, rushing down the hallway calling, “Patches.”

Seraphine said goodbye to Miguel and Ianthe. He pulled her into a hug. “Thanks again. Dylan’s not going to be able to avoid his fate much longer.”

It lightened her heart that Dylan’s friends wanted to see them together. But she put daydreams of romantic love and marriage aside as she caught up with Chesna in a living room filled with plants and, at the moment, birdsong.

Color flashed as the finches housed in a birdcage spanning the length of one wall fluttered and darted, greeting Chesna with a flurry of activity.

They were rescues. A joint project abandoned when her relationship with her sister Electra spiraled downward because Chesna, at turning nine in February, had come into some of her power and was now consumed by interest in magic and witchcraft.

Chesna sat on the couch. Her arms were tight around the calico cat that was her familiar, her face buried in Patches’ soft fur.