The Necromancer's Seduction (20 page)

“No, of course not.” I picked at my nails.

“Why not?”

Huh?
I reached back to pull on a lock of my hair. “Malthus said an old necromancer killed
a bunch of innocents to make a sphere, and the power drove him crazy.”

“Every story has two sides.”

“Are you saying the necromancer had good reason to kill those people?”

“The demons imprisoned the necromancer’s brother without a trial and had him assassinated
in prison.” He paused and drank from his glass without removing his unfocused gaze
from me. “Some supernaturals believed the necromancers had grown too powerful. Wars
have a way of turning villains into heroes and heroes into villains.”

He spoke so quietly I had to strain my ears to catch all the words. War? Against necromancers?
Too many questions crowded my mind. The biggest one—the one flashing in neon—was which
side the demons took?

“Ancient history,” Xavier said, his voice back to non-straining levels. “The only
wars supes wage today are over who’s going to preside over the next meeting.”

Fiona finally extricated herself from Ewan’s side to stand next to Xavier. He wrapped
his hand around her waist. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ewan?”

The edge of Ewan’s mouth twisted into a smile as Xavier regarded him intently.

Xavier returned his gaze to me. “Ruby, anything can be used for good or bad. A witch’s
power is not bad at the source, but a bad witch can use the power to hurt others.”

“It depends on the source of the power. Some power is inherently less stable, such
as power derived from death,” said Ewan. He addressed Xavier’s comment, but he directed
his gaze at me, the lines around his face tightening.

“Ewan, you sound like Malthus. Ruby is smart and capable. She has already proven her
talent. She raised two supernatural revenants and appears to be in full control of
them.”

Fiona regarded me for a moment. “Surprising, given the instability in your family.
Necros can be careless with their power, especially those who are not fully aware
of the consequences.”

I bit my lip to keep from voicing certain choice words that vibrated on the edge of
my tongue. I was aware of and had spent my life dealing with the consequences. Xavier
left Fiona’s side and approached my chair.

A loud crash sounded from the ground floor. We ran to the balustrade and saw a zombie
thrashing in the middle of the crowd. People screamed—startled screams, screams of
laughter, but I didn’t hear a scream born of sheer terror. They acted as if they were
on a television reality show. The small groups on the fringe of the spectacle resumed
their conversations. Only the woman the zombie had grabbed by the throat tried to
cry out in earnest when she realized she could no longer breathe, but her scream came
out as a strangled whimper.

Xavier reached his hand out over the balcony, and the zombie collapsed as though Xavier
had cut his puppet strings. He leaned over the railing. “My friends,” he said, and
his voice boomed through the gallery. “A hand for our Fiona’s performance art.”

The crowd broke out in applause. Even the woman the zombie almost strangled to death
gushed at her participation in the “performance art.” Christ. These people wouldn’t
know a real zombie if it bit them in the ass. And it almost had.

Fiona waved.

I wasn’t sure if I was more disturbed by the appearance of the zombie or the crowd’s
reaction. I met Ewan’s eyes. He curled his lip in disgust and moved to the window.

Xavier didn’t appear upset or shocked or angry. His expression reflected mild amusement.
“Seems Cael is trying to make a statement.”

Ewan came up behind me and placed his hand on my back. “We should go.”

I wasn’t going to argue, having had enough art—performance or otherwise—for the night.
He guided me to the stairs. I stepped down, but Fiona stopped him before he could
take the first step, leaned in, and kissed one of his cheeks while caressing the other.

“Call me anytime you want . . . company.” She looked at me briefly, a knowing smile
on her lips. I smiled back, trying to make it one of those fake sweet smiles, but
it turned into a smile that threw punches. Bitch.

“A pleasure, as always, Fiona,” Ewan said. Did I detect sarcasm or was it wishful
thinking?

Once we exited the house, he swept me into his car, and we drove off.

“In a rush, are we?” I asked.

“There is only so much of Xavier I can stand.”

“He seemed nice enough. Fiona sure enjoyed your company.” I detected the annoyance
in my voice and chided myself for that slip of the tongue.

His lips formed a bemused smile. “Granted it’s not always easy to deny a succubus,
but Fiona is not my type and can be a serious pain in the ass.” Succubus? I’d nailed
that one.

My cell beeped. The text from Kara contained one word.

Help.

Chapter Nineteen

My fingers thrummed on their way to becoming numb. Kara’s second text told me to come
to Matilda’s house. Fortunately, Matilda didn’t live too far from our location, but
it still entailed a U-turn to traverse the Golden Gate Bridge again.

Ewan sped along the two lane coastal road, taking the curves faster than the speed
limit allowed. The road was deserted and quiet, the whispering waves providing the
only background sound to the roar of the engine. I opened the window to let the ocean
scent sooth my nerves.

“We’re almost at Matilda’s,” Ewan said. “Any more messages from Kara?”

Before I could respond, the car veered, thrusting me against the seat belt. The tires
screeched against the pavement, and something bashed against the windshield. My heart
rammed into my chest, matching the force of whatever we hit.

Ewan skidded the car to the side of the road and leaped out. I followed him to find
a man’s body splayed next to the Rover. When I saw white peeking out from holes in
his flesh, I peered to take a closer look.

Ewan pushed me away from the zombie. “Stay here, away from that. I sense . . . something.
I want to take a quick look around.”

The minute Ewan’s figure faded into the darkness of the beach, the zombie sprang up
and snatched my arm. His grip was strong for a half-decomposed body.

“Flesh.” His voice was a nauseous rasp, carrying the stench of death. I gagged at
the sound of his decay.

He yanked my hand closer to him, and I kicked at his side, pressing my sandal against
his body to wrench my arm out of his grip. I heaved against his grasp, the strain
stretching my skin until I heard a bone rasping pop.

I fell back on the sand holding his detached arm in my hand. I flexed my hand in disgust,
flinging the arm behind me. Damn these zombies and their Lego body parts.

The zombie slouched over me. I kicked at the sand in frenzied bursts, wanting to get
up and away from him. He caught my shirt with his remaining hand as I hauled myself
up, snatching some sand in the process which I threw in his face. He slashed at his
eyes. I took advantage of his distraction to grab a rock next to me and bash his head.
I didn’t expect to knock it off completely.

I dropped the rock and loped to the car where I rested my head on the hood and grasped
my hair. I had to free Brandon, free Kara, and free Matilda from the danger that threatened,
free myself from the clusterfuck wrought by my power. I heard the soft sandpaper scratch
of the beach sand behind me.

“We should go,” Ewan’s voice said a few minutes later.

“The body?”

“I took care of it. You did quite the number on him.”

My laugh skirted the boundaries of hysteria. “It was either his head or mine.” I popped
my attached head up. “What did you sense?”

“I thought I sensed a temporal disturbance, like when a demon teleports. Generally,
it leaves a residue in the atmosphere, but I didn’t detect anything. I must have been
wrong.” He shook his head, as if not quite convinced.

“Well, we can’t worry about that now, we need to get the hell to Matilda’s.”

We jumped back into the car, our clothes releasing sprays of sand on the seats and
floor. Ewan peeled back onto the road, his adrenaline fueling the car as much as the
gas. My heart continued to thump.

* * * *

I found Kara in the back room of Matilda’s cottage, seated the floor, knees up, her
back against a sliding glass door that opened to the bay. When she hung up her cell,
I crouched next to her.

“Matilda’s dead. Revenant Brandon took her.” Her lips trembled, and the lines in her
face cracked then hardened as she applied more protective plaster.

She finally faced me. “Don’t give me that you-can-cry-on-my-shoulder look.”

“I’m empathizing. I know that’s an unknown concept for you.”

“I don’t need the psychological dissection.”

I smiled quickly to keep from glaring. “Then what do you need?”

“You’re dissecting.”

I clenched my hands while I considered wrapping them around her throat.

“They came at us, out of the darkness,” she said. “I barely had time to cast a spell
to protect myself.”

She’d propped her elbows on her knees, fingers intertwined, creating a pendulum that
she swung back and forth, knocking her thumb knuckles against her forehead, back and
forth. The cold from her consciousness soaked into my bones, the same frigid air I’d
felt before, blasted out of some dark place within her. I rubbed my arms.

“Kara?” She was freaking me out with the forehead whacking, like the crazy people
in the psych ward movies who slap themselves in the head repeatedly. She halted her
hands, thankfully, because I was ready to grab them to stop the incessant swinging.
Kara looked up as if returning from a long voyage to Nutsville.

“You know I understand what it’s like to lose someone important. I’m not giving you
the Hallmark condolences here,” I said.

She still didn’t answer me. Ewan stood on the deck just outside the sliding glass
door and talked on his cell.

“How’s the coven going to handle this?” I asked.

“Not gonna be good for you.” The pendulum resumed its swing.

“Because the demons killed Matilda?”

“The coven trusted Malthus to fix this. We’ve lost two witches.”

“I lost two mothers.” My mother gave birth to me, and sometimes played the best friend
mom, but Cora was the one who’d wiped my runny nose and patted my back until I fell
asleep.

Kara stood in one swift movement and surveyed the living space. She looked at me,
and her eyes understood, accepted my sorrow at Matilda’s death. Kara rarely broadcasted
her sorrow with tears or emotional outbursts. I’m not sure why, but she either censured
them with a joke or sarcasm or, like now, conveyed them without words. At Cora’s funeral,
I’d read the anguish in her eyes and in the droop of her shoulders. She’d loved Cora
too.

Ewan returned from outside and directed his authority at Kara. “I’m going to take
you to the coven.”

“You need to find Cael,” Kara said to me. “You and Adam need to stop playing house,
figure out who’s responsible, and return Adam to the dead. The longer he stays reanimated,
the more turmoil it creates in the coven. It’s getting harder for me to influence
the circle when some blame Matilda and me for this mess.”

“So now it’s me instead of we?” I asked, trepidation in my voice. Her statement made
me feel even more isolated. She’d officially removed herself from our Scooby club,
Ewan had lied to me, and all I had left was a revenant witch that would eventually
try to eat me.

* * * *

Ewan and I sat in the Rover outside my house, the hum of the motor failing to diffuse
the tension still poisoning the air between us. How did things get so screwed up?
We’d measured out our intimacy and understanding, confusion and distrust, milliliter
by milliliter in uneven proportions until the mix had turned toxic. I missed the feel
of his body, his touch, but I feared my reaction to him more. People around us were
dying. I needed to get over my reservations.

I ran my hand down his arm, enjoying the feel of his muscles clenching.

“Ruby,” he said, his voice a ragged whisper. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“Yeah, can you explain all of it, because I’m confused.”

“Me too.”

He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. I pulled my hand away, my courage
dissipating. I reached for the door handle and clicked the door open. Ewan reached
past me and slammed the door shut. He gathered me in his arms and crushed his lips
to mine, plundering them in hot, angry need, wedging my back between the door and
the seat with the force of his body. He kissed down my throat to my chest, squeezing
my breast up where he could access the throbbing mound with his mouth.

I don’t remember how we got from the car to the house. I barely opened and shut the
door before I was against the wall in a flurry of hands, mouths, teeth, legs. He caught
me between the wall and his chest, two hard surfaces, but only one scorched my body
on contact. I struggled with the buttons on his shirt, until frustrated, I tore the
shirt open, sending the buttons clattering to the floor. His chest shimmered in alternating
shades of gold, matching the pulsing threads in his eyes, now staring at me with lustful
intent.

He shoved my skirt until it was crumpled around my waist while I fumbled with his
belt and pants to free his rigid erection. I had one brief moment to cup his shaft
before he groaned and ripped my panties off and tossed them to the floor. My legs
shook with impatience. Without preamble, he grabbed my ass, lifted, and thrust inside
me. My moan reverberated off the walls and wood floors. I clamped my legs around his
waist. He plunged into me over and over, seeking to drive out our frustration, enlisting
our passion to refract the negative emotions of the past few days.

He drove into me harder. I clenched his shoulders and dug my fingers into his skin
as he stretched me with his assault. My nerves felt plugged into an amplifier, electrified,
crackling. He reached a hand between our bodies, and finding my clit, rubbed the hardened
nub. I cried out in release. He came with me, and I felt his muscles shudder under
my palms. My orgasm continued to pulse and ripple in multiple waves.

He rested his head on the wall, and I smiled at the image he presented, his shirt
hanging off his back, held by the sleeves around his arms, and his pants hugging his
ankles. Still holding me to him, he shed his shoes, kicked his pants away, and walked
into the front room, his cock still hard and throbbing inside me. I’d learned the
first time we made love that demons had ridiculous metabolisms, making them insatiable
and vainglorious about their stamina.

His smile was smug when he stopped in front of the fireplace, and I thought of a way
to possibly humble him. I dropped my legs from his waist, withdrawing from him. He
emitted an irritated grunt, and I only smiled as I kneeled in front of him and ran
my hand up and down the length of his glistening cock, following each stroke with
my tongue. He gripped my head and weaved his fingers through my hair. A low rumble
emanated from his chest, and I quickened my strokes while squeezing his sac, enjoying
the spicy scent of his arousal, the sound of his groans. I let my smug satisfaction
roll out in a small laugh.

He took it as a challenge.

He grabbed my arms, hauled me up, and yanked off my shirt. He smiled at the sight
of my black lace bra and ran a finger along the tops of the cups before reaching around
to unhook the clasp and slip the straps off my shoulders. He bent his head to take
my right nipple in his mouth while rubbing the left between two fingers, stealing
my breath and sending electric pulses from my breasts to enflame my core. Unlike the
frenzy in the hallway, he took his time sucking and kneading my breasts until I wanted
to weep with need. “Ewan, please.”

He lifted his head and skimmed his gaze over my body, his look full of demon arrogance.
I’d lost the smug battle, but no longer cared, only wanted him to possess me. He shed
his shirt, lowered me to the rug, and slanted over me, his skin almost incandescent,
matching the blaze of his eyes. He looked every bit the demon, and I trembled.

He spread my knees and grazed the insides of my thighs with his hands, each time reaching
closer and closer to my pulsing heat, then moving away in a relentless tease. The
next time his fingers came within a touch of my clit, I pushed up against them, and
he laughed, bent over, and took my soaking folds in his mouth, moving his tongue over
my swollen clit, in and out of my moist recesses. My legs shuddered, but he braced
my thighs with his arms, spreading me even more to him. He slipped three fingers inside
me, pressed on my spot, kneading, moving his fingers in and out. He drove me to the
edge and back again, each time holding back, keeping me from the release I sought.
My body ached with need. He slid his drenched fingers out of me, and I whimpered in
protest.

“You’re so wet, dripping.” I didn’t recognize his voice, turned deep and hoarse. “Open
your eyes,” he rasped. “Look at me.”

I slit my eyelids, and for a brief moment, saw his soul shining through his eyes before
he seized my waist, arched me up, and shoved into me forcefully. His power reached
deep inside, rearranging my molecules, expanding and stretching my nerves. He increased
his rhythm, driving me harder and harder, his rumbling growing louder and louder.
My core burned, my muscles clenched his, tightening, waiting to snap. He lowered and
claimed my mouth in a hot, insistent kiss then moved to nip my right nipple. I screamed
and surrendered my release, my body bucking and sliding and grinding against him.
Ewan’s coarse shout signaled his final thrust, bringing us both to a climax that had
me spinning, screaming to his roar.

He remained straddled over me, his arms on either side of my body. His gaze held mine,
seeking their depths until he finally pulled out of me. He kissed me gently on the
lips, then scooped me up and carried me upstairs to the bathroom where he ran hot
water in my clawfoot tub.