Spell Bound (Darkly Enchanted) (8 page)

“Great Father,” Laran moved to the base of the altar, where the woman’s body was positioned at exactly the right height for Laran, “feel the strength and power I offer to You on our behalf.”

A soft breeze blew through the space, rustling the leaves and ruffling the woman’s hair, sending red strands dancing. Laran grabbed her hip in one hand and his cock in the other and fitted their bodies together with one lunge.

The woman gasped in ecstasy as Laran sank deep and closed his eyes.

“Let our offering please You as it pleases us.”

Laran’s hips began to move, thrusting and retreating, never faltering in his recitation of the ritual. The
grigori
continued the accompanying chant as the air in the temple thickened, the spell increasing in intensity. Laran’s voice deepened, as well, until he was nearly growling. The woman’s ecstatic cries lent potency to the spell and when she finally broken into orgasm, Laran came, as well.

Their combined climaxes infused the air with a heady power that blasted into the
grigori
like a nuclear wave. It drenched them in magic, seeped into their bodies, into that part the Great God Tinia had given them that made them
grigori
.

Closing his eyes, Gabriel breathed through the almost overwhelming sensation as the power sank deeper, clawing its way into his blood and his bones and his mind. So much power. Almost too much. Never too much.

When he could manage, Gabriel opened his eyes and looked around, his enhanced vision picking out the distinctive blue auras surrounding his fellow
grigori
. In addition to detecting emotions in auras,
grigori
identified the type of magic user by the underlying color of their aura. Blue for
grigori
, purple for
streghe
, yellow for
versipelli
.

The black tinge around Larth’s aura told Gabriel he needed to get laid. Diego was worried about something according to his maroon-ringed aura. And Aulus lusted after either the woman or Laran, Gabriel couldn’t tell which and didn’t care either way.

Lucumo and Joseph’s auras were untainted by any hint of stress. He’d never actually seen the brothers pissed off about anything, but they were relentless machines when it came to protecting their charges.

And Digger… Well, Digger sought redemption with the same intensity Gabriel wanted revenge. Not that any of the other
grigori
would see that in his aura. He’d gotten damn good at submerging his true feelings.

The other
grigori
would only be able to tell that he was pissed off, which was no surprise to anyone. Only Laran might see more, and probably had, but he’d never interfered, never questioned.

Of course, what God of War would question a man’s right to revenge?

“Hey, Gabe. You want to stop at The Cellar?” Aulus called to him as the
grigori
broke the circle and headed through the courtyard to the exit, allowing the woman and Laran a little private time to get cleaned up. Or go again, if he interpreted those moans correctly. “These other pansies are wimping out on me.”

Gabriel considered hitting the local banquet hall, run by the small tribe of
monacielli
who made their own wine and cooked like gourmet chefs. They looked like smaller, rounder versions of that Food Network guy his mom loved to watch and cooked even better.

Sounded good but he shook his head. “Not tonight, wiped out. Maybe next time.”

Tonight, he needed a few hours of sleep.

Tomorrow, he’d start over. And when he finally found that bastard Dario, he’d rip out his heart and burn him into a little pile of ash.

Chapter Four

“I am in need of a
grigorio
.”

The voice, husky and feminine, made Gabriel’s libido jump up and beg her to do him, even through the pounding hangover.

But her use of the word
grigorio
rang all his warning bells, even through the headache from the combination of ritual and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed over the past few days. Add in the fact that he’d only just gotten to sleep a half hour ago, and he’d actually thought about ignoring the damn door. But the knocking had been too loud and he didn’t want to attract the neighbors’ attention.

Who the hell was this woman who knew what a
grigorio
was?

Eyes narrowed, he checked out his visitor from head to toe, though there wasn’t much to see. Baggy jeans, good running sneakers and a gray hooded sweatshirt that concealed her face and most of the rest of her. She had something to hide. Hell, didn’t they all?

She couldn’t hide the fact that she was
strega
, though. Her purple aura pulsed around her, tinged with neon green. Stress. She was tiny, no taller than five-three, but he’d been deceived by size before. And was smarter for it.

Crossing his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the ice pick digging into his temples, he leaned against the doorjamb, paint flaking to the ground in a snowfall.

“What the hell’s a
grigorio
? Some new sex act? Since when do hookers go door to door?”

She didn’t flinch but her body stiffened. “I was told you would help.”

He snorted. “Help what? And by who?”

“Celeste.”

Holy fuck.

He had to work at keeping his expression blank. Celeste was one of the cursed
streghe
. She’d disappeared more than twenty years ago and no one had seen her since.

Still…“I don’t know anyone named Celeste—”

“She said all is done in time.”

Fucking hell. She had the correct code words. Was this the female who’d called Phil to speak to him earlier this week? How the hell had she known his call name and how had she gotten his address?

And what did she know about the
grigori
?

“What’s your name?” He flicked an impatient hand toward her hood. “And take that down. I don’t deal with people I can’t see.”

After a split-second hesitation, her hands emerged from the front pocket of the sweatshirt. Slim and pale, they trembled slightly. Not as calm as she pretended.

His eyes narrowed as the hood fell, revealing dark, rumpled waves that disappeared into the sweatshirt. With her head bowed, he still couldn’t see her face.

Annoyed, he placed a rough finger under her chin to tilt her head back. And pulled back as if burned.

Shit.
Arus
coursed through her like water in a fast-moving stream. And her face…she looked familiar. She wasn’t one of the cursed
streghe
. He’d memorized all their faces as part of his training. Still…

“Who the hell are you?”

She lifted her pointed chin and flashed flat brown eyes at him. Colored contacts. What the hell?

The woman’s long black lashes snapped down and her pink tongue emerged to lick full lips. “I need a
grigorio
. I was told you would help. I have… There are complications.”

No shit. “Honey, there’re always complications and you still didn’t tell me your name.”

Her lashes flickered again and her lips quivered.
Vaffanculo
, he really didn’t want to have to deal with a weeper. Not that it would’ve swayed him. He actually had more respect for her when, after a few seconds, her mouth firmed and she looked him straight in the eyes.

“I have a child. We need your protection.”

Oh, fuck no. Pushing away from the doorjamb, he backed through the door, ready to close it in her face. “I don’t do kids, babe. Whoever Celeste is, she wasted your time.”

He caught a quick glimpse of the shock in her eyes before her arm shot out to grip his forearm for one brief second before letting go. “Please.” Her voice sounded strangled, as if she didn’t use that word much. “My…child needs protection. If you really are a
grigorio
, you have to help. He’s
grigori
, too.”

Holy shit. How the hell had she gotten her hands on a
grigori
child? He knew every
grigorio
in the Americas. Had one of them been stupid enough to father a child without knowing?

Someone had screwed up big time. But even though he had a sworn duty to protect this kid, there was no fucking way he could.

He stepped back, his heart as cold as winter ice and his expression probably the same, if the look on her face was any indication.

She took a step away from him, her heel catching on a crack. She reached for the wall to steady herself but missed and his reflexes kicked in. He grabbed her arm before she hit the sidewalk.

A small body streaked from the darkness of the doorway to the girl’s side and a pair of dark eyes flashed up to his.

Fuck. His heart froze and the cold extended through his veins.

The woman’s mouth parted but no words emerged.

“
Figlio di puttana
.” Gabriel realized he was about to crush the bones in her arm and released her.

This time she did fall on her ass.

Gabriel barely noticed, his gaze locked on the child. He could have been Nino’s twin. Nino, who’d been only nine when that bastard Dario had killed him.

“How old is he?” His voice menaced like the low growl of a Harley.

The woman rose, dusting off her ass, then gathered the wide-eyed child to her side and dropped a light kiss on his midnight-black hair.

“Six.”

He cursed again, this time in Romanian and nasty enough to strip paint from the side of a building.

In a flash, the woman’s expression went blank, but the boiling-hot look in her eyes told him he’d crossed a line. She’d translated.

“I don’t appreciate your language, Mr. Brown.” Her frigid tone made his balls try to crawl back into his body. “You’re right. We’ll find someone else.”

Wrapping the boy’s small hand in hers, she turned and picked their way down the broken sidewalk to a muddy green Dodge two-door on the next block.

She never looked back. The boy did, just once, pinning him in place.