The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2 (4 page)

Truthfully, Seven wasn’t exactly a
him
. Or even a
she
. More like a conglomerate of personas that took multiple personality disorder to an extreme new level. The little she had managed to glean during her limited dealings with Seven all those years ago hadn’t shed too much light on the creature’s mysterious origins. To this day, the only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that Seven held an insatiable hunger for one thing above all else.

Souls.

Today, the creature wore the trappings of an average, everyday Joe dressed in tailored khakis and a navy polo. She was more acquainted with this personality than the others, although she’d met them all during that harrowing week seven years ago, when she’d hammered out the contract on her soul. But for whatever reason, the personality standing before her had seemed to be the one most intensely interested in her. As seemed to still be the case now, judging from the way those black, reptilian-like irises focused on her.

Seven’s head cocked to the side. “What, you don’t agree?”

It took her a moment to remember the creature’s earlier observation. “That this is the devil’s den? Or that they’re foolish children?”

Slipping on a smile that didn’t reach those cold eyes, Seven brushed by her and lowered into the neighboring seat. “Both.”

She stifled the urge to shiver as Seven watched her intently. Her overwhelming unease didn’t just stem from the fact this creature held the contract on her soul. Although that small detail certainly was enough to pump anyone with dread. No, there was also something oddly, frighteningly hypnotic about Seven. A magnetic force that simultaneously repelled and beckoned. She’d seen firsthand that power in action and how it’d lured in victims. Even so, that in no way made her immune to its draw.

Somehow she pulled her stare from Seven and glanced toward the young quartet up at the bar. “They’re teenagers. It’s a requirement to be foolish at that age.”

“Tell me, Clarissa, were you ever foolish? Or young?” Once again, that dark, fathomless gaze seared into her as if trolling her subconscious for the memories she preferred to keep submerged in the deepest recesses of her mind.

Maybe that was the secret to Seven’s allure, a telepathic skill that amounted to a twisted version of a Jedi mind trick. She battled to resist its potent pull. “We were all young once.”

“Not you. Those parents of yours made sure of that, didn’t they?”

A suffocating sense of vulnerability washed over her, and she swallowed. The interior of her mouth felt dry, gritty. She searched the table for a glass of water before remembering that the waitress had never returned for her order.

“How is your good ole pops doing these days, anyway? Perhaps I’ll stop by and say howdy, for old time’s sake.”

Her panic dissolved, replaced instantly with blistering fury. “You stay away from him.”

“Still protecting the very ones who robbed you of your youth? An admirable, if not foolish trait.” A taunting smile curled Seven’s mouth. “Deprived of youth but not foolishness. Pity, that.”

Her hands clenched in her lap. “Why did you bring me here? To amuse yourself and torment me?”

“Am I tormenting you, sweet Clarissa?”

She winced at the mocking, silken purr of Seven’s voice. Damn it, after all her talk about not showing any weakness, she blew it within the first five minutes of their meeting.

“Imagine. Me having the ability to do that to you.” Something resembling hunger flashed in the bottomless black depths of Seven’s eyes. “You who refuses to crack under any pressure. Who contains more strength and power than her entire coven combined.”

An icy sliver of fear trickled down her spine. She didn’t know which to blame more for the sensation—the intensely covetous way Seven stared at her, or hearing this strange and disturbing creature speak of her coven. There was no reason to interpret a hidden menace there, but the fine hairs standing to attention on the nape of her neck didn’t seem to agree with the assessment. She swallowed past the thick apprehension clogging her throat, desperate not to reveal her anxiety. “Flattered as I am by this conversation, I’d prefer if we just cut through the bullshit, and you tell me exactly how long I have before you call in my marker.”

“Seven days.”

She might have known. If nothing else, Seven was consistent with the freaky symbolism. “So that’s it? You brought me all the way here to tell me I have a week? Wouldn’t another of your infamous letters have been easier?” And less painful. But she knew with every fiber of her being that Seven wouldn’t have had it any other way. No, much better to lure her to this hellhole, where memories were like daggers piercing her guilty conscience.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that easy. Since our contract isn’t fully sealed, a letter wouldn’t have sufficed.”

She blinked, trying to digest the implications of the startling revelation. “Isn’t sealed? You mean…”

A scratchy chuckle rumbled from Seven. “Don’t get too excited, sweet Clarissa. The contract laid down the groundwork, so there’s no going back. Your soul is still mine to take.” Another glimmer of that covetous lust flared in Seven’s dark pupils, making her shiver. “I trust that you’re a woman of your word. Come to me willingly, and there will be no complications.”

She frowned. “Complications?”

“For those you hold dear. Your coven sisters. Your father. Others whom you may not be willing to allow admittance to your heart.”

Her pulse leapt at the unmistakable threat. “I’ve already given you my agreement. I’m not breaking the contract.”

“Good. Then you only owe me one more thing to complete the seal.”

“What?”

The smile that stretched Seven’s thin lips made her skin crawl. “A kiss.”

Logan grunted as he struggled not to drop the heavy amp for Kegan Justice’s Stratocaster. “Son of a bitch. Would you get some fuckin’ wheels bolted on this thing already?”

“Why? That’s what the dolly is for.”

Logan’s eyebrows slashed low. “What dolly?”

A chuckle came from Mica Chaffour, Kegan’s band mate and fellow familiar. “The one sitting inside the service entrance over there.”

Logan’s gaze swerved to the back wall of Tatum’s and the
Employees Only
sign hanging over a propped-open door. He shifted his attention back to Kegan and noticed the grin stretching his mouth. “Shithead. I’m tellin’ Constance you tried to bust my nut.”

Kegan’s smartass grin instantly vanished. “Hey now. No need to get your jockeys in a twist.” Looking suitably worried, he dashed in the direction of the doorway, presumably to snatch the dolly and avoid a potential scolding from his witch. For a bear shifter, he could hustle his ass pretty damn fast when he wanted to.

“That was mean and sneaky, man.” Mica’s lips twitched. “I’m gonna have to remember it for future reference. Might help score me a month of kitchen duty from Keg. And his Coltrane collection.”

Logan crooked his arm, using the sleeve of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I don’t know how you guys manage to get along so well, much less live together.” Mica and Kegan were one of the few familiars who shared a witch. The typical competitiveness that existed amongst familiars usually prohibited doubling up, for everyone’s sanity.

“Yeah, it’s a miracle. Especially since Keg is such a damn slob.”

“Spreading vicious lies about me again, dickhead?” The rattling of metal announced Kegan’s approach with the dolly. “Think you can maybe hold off for a few and actually give me a hand setting things up?”

“If I must.” Mica glanced at Logan. “You gonna stick around for a set? We’ll buy you a round if so.”

“Well, shit, who am I to pass up free beer?” Besides, not like he had anywhere else to be. Shoving that dismal thought to the rear of his mind, he left the two bear shifters to finish situating their gear. He stepped into the service entrance of Tatum’s and bypassed the kitchen, following the corridor to the main section of the restaurant. He coughed, nearly hacking up a lung as the acrid smoke from what undoubtedly amounted to ten thousand packs of cigarettes ambushed him. His heightened lupine senses always made walking into a bar a dicey prospect. Thankfully Champions had a state-of-the-art smoke-filtering system—something this joint was in dire need of. If not for the promise of those free beers, he would have walked his ass right back through the exit.

Steeling himself, he strode toward the jam-packed bar. After elbowing a path through the throng and requesting a beer from the bartender, he moseyed out of the way and scoped the room for an available seat. The majority of tables close to the stage were already taken, but he spotted a vacant booth that still afforded a decent view.

Hoping to sweet talk his way into the primo spot, he swiveled toward the hostess stand, only to slam to a standstill when he spied Clarissa sitting at a table near the back of the dining room. She wasn’t alone. Even while his brain scrambled to process that disturbing revelation, he watched the stranger’s hands bracket Clarissa’s face, right before the guy leaned in and kissed her.

Numb disbelief froze him.
What. The. Fuck.

Jealous fury detonated inside him, instantly eradicating every thought but the one screaming in his mind—the fucking asshole had his tongue rammed in Clarissa’s mouth.
His
woman.

Fists balling in preparation of punching the dickwad’s nose off kilter, Logan growled low in his throat and stalked in Clarissa’s direction. A seat suddenly swerved in front of him, almost jabbing him in the hip. He snarled at the clueless guy straddling the chair before shoving the seat out of the way. Ignoring the guy’s sputtering retort, Logan jerked his focus back to Clarissa. And did a double take.

She was alone.

He took a quick scan of the dining room, not seeing the dickwad anywhere. It was almost as if the dude had vanished into thin air. Another possibility knocked against his consciousness and he grunted.
Or maybe I imagined the whole thing
. The idea wasn’t completely out in left field. Fuck knows this obsession with Clarissa had messed with his head on more than one occasion. Tunneling a shaky hand through his hair, he continued forward. When he was less than two table lengths away from Clarissa, she looked up and locked stares with him. Every ounce of color leeched from her face. Her gaze darted sideways, toward the back hallway, and he lengthened his stride, fully intending to tackle her if her butt so much as inched off her chair.

Apparently reading his intention, Clarissa muttered beneath her breath. He didn’t need to be a lip reader—or rely on his acute hearing—to make out the words “
Fuck me
.”

Her irritability, along with her choice of words, stirred the wicked beast within him. Drawing to a halt at her table, he awarded her his best wolfish smile. “Just name the time and place, shug.”

“You know damn well that isn’t what I meant.”

“No? Because I’m thinking that’s precisely what I’d like to do.”

Her cheeks bloomed with a vivid splash of red. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”

Clarissa’s testiness only managed to rekindle his anger. “Well, now, I’m real sorry you feel that way, shug. ’Cause the last thing I’d wanna do is piss on whatever urgent plans preempted our dinner tonight.”

“There’s no need to be a prick.” She stood, her eyes narrowing as he strategically blocked her path. “Or make a scene. Please move.”

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Whammy me? Might be kinda hard explainin’ that one to everyone here, darlin’.”

“Logan, please.” Her voice broke on the last word, stunning him. She glanced down, but not before he caught the faint glimmer of moisture in her eyes. The sight hit him like a sucker punch in the gut, making him feel like the prick she’d accused him of being.

If there was one thing guaranteed to shred him to pieces, it was a woman’s tears. Having that woman be Clarissa only made it a thousand times more terrible. “Clarissa…”

Without saying another word, she rushed past him and hurried toward the rear hallway. Even her strongest holding spell wouldn’t have kept him from chasing after her.

He caught up with Clarissa before she could duck out the door or into the ladies’ restroom. Not that either location would have deterred him. He tugged her into his arms, the ferocity of her expression revealing just how much she hated showing the vulnerability hidden beneath that legendary icy exterior she’d perfected. Tucking her against his chest, he nuzzled her forehead. “Rissa, I’m sorry.”

She stiffened. “Please don’t call me that. I—it’s very inappropriate.”

“Hush.” Unable to help himself, he followed the delicate, silky arch of her eyebrow with his lips. She trembled and sighed, making both man and wolf silently growl in triumph at her tiny show of capitulation. Holding her this close was both heaven and hell, a heady torment that teased every single one of his heightened senses. She smelled luscious and feminine, a delicious main course he could easily feast on all day and night. His hands slid down the slopes of her shoulders, a not entirely unconscious marking of his territory.

Her breath stuttered in her throat. “This isn’t the place to be doing this.” She must have caught her slip of words because she jerked her gaze up to his. “I mean we shouldn’t be doing this at
all
.”

Tuning out her weak protest, he traced her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “That’s where you’re wrong. Right now, I need to kiss you more than I need to breathe. I wanna taste you. Eat you up.”
Make you mine
. The thought sprang full born from the most primal part of him, where wolf overruled man.

Clarissa’s eyes widened, but she didn’t draw back as his head descended. Their lips met, clung briefly, before he gave in to the fierce hunger burning low in the pit of his gut. Intent on making his possessiveness—and his desire—known, he nudged the hard ridge of his erection between her thighs. “Feel that, baby? That’s what you fuckin’ do to me.”

He filled his palms with her ass and squeezed, deliberately rolling his hips against hers. Yeah, he was dry humping her against a wall right outside the damn restrooms. But if the frequency of her gasps were any indication, she was enjoying the hell out of it just as much as he was.