: Chapter 8

Entering the kitchen the next morning, Wynter blinked at Anabel. “Why are you walking funny?”

A laugh bubbled out of Delilah, who put a hand to her stomach as she leaned forward in her chair. “Oh God, my ribs are hurting like hell.”

Her cheeks crimson, Anabel glared at the other witch. “Probably because you won’t stop laughing despite your promise.”

Delilah lifted her cup. “I’m not laughing, I’m chuckling.”

“It’s the same thing.” Anabel plopped herself on a chair and moodily dragged it along the floor as she scooted forward.

Delilah looked at Wynter. “Anabel and Diego had some fun in the mist last night, and it turns out he has a beast of a cock.”

“Oh, I see.” Wynter hadn’t spoken to either Anabel or Hattie last night, since both had left the arena before her. They’d been tucked up in bed when she’d returned.

“At first, when I saw her waddling like a goddamn penguin, I thought she’d taken him up the ass.”

“That thing in his pants will never get near my ass,” declared Anabel.

Beside the blonde, Xavier patted her arm in comfort—a gesture that was totally spoiled by the way his shoulders shook in silent laughter.

Having grabbed a Danish pastry and poured herself a coffee, Wynter settled at the table. “Where’s Hattie?”

Xavier gestured at the backyard. “Enjoying her early morning joint.”

Eyeing Wynter, Anabel tilted her head and said, “You know, I kind of expected you to be walking bowlegged, since Cain had made it clear with his gaze alone that you were going to get royally fucked.”

Delilah smiled. “From the little she told me and Xavier last night, she was royally fucked. I had a feeling the dude would bring plenty of game to the table. I do love to be right.”

Anabel tore off a piece of her croissant, her gaze on Wynter. “Does sex ever really leave you feeling satisfied? I mean, food doesn’t. Sleep doesn’t. So it made me wonder.”

“Usually, no,” replied Wynter. “Even if I come, I don’t feel fully sated. But last night was different. He stroked my soul and, Jesus, it was more intense than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.” And she wasn’t as happy about that as she’d like to be because, seriously, what guy could live up to that? How could she not compare any future sexytimes with what happened last night?

Delilah’s eyes lit up. “Oh, now that sounds intriguing. The sidhe I fucked last night had some amazing tricks, but soul-touching wasn’t one of them.”

“Being bitten by a vampire was an interesting experience,” said Xavier, his mouth curving.

“One you’d repeat?” asked Anabel.

“Maybe,” he said. “I might have gotten more than simply bitten if Elias from next door hadn’t interfered to be a dick. He came over, acting all flirty with me—even suggested a threesome with him and his boyfriend. It was obvious he was only trying to put her off. I don’t get why he’d do that.”

“Lycans are more territorial than any other preternatural species,” said Wynter. “Our lycan neighbors will feel they have a minor claim to us five, what with us living so close to them. That in and of itself will make them act a little territorial at times, not to mention protective.”

“Wait, that’s why Diego made a move on me?” asked Anabel.

“No, I’m sure he likes you,” said Wynter. “But I also think he acted fast because he felt a little proprietary and didn’t want others to beat him to it.” She looked at Xavier. “I think another reason Elias interfered is that lycans hate vamps. He wouldn’t want ‘the enemy’ touching any of us.”

“That’s his problem,” said Xavier. “He has no right to make it mine.”

“Agreed. I’ll have a chat with him if he doesn’t let up.”

“No need, I can deal with him just fine.”

Wynter narrowed her eyes. “You’re not killing him.”

“We all have the right to cut toxic people from our lives.”

“That doesn’t mean ending their existence. Besides, he’s not a toxic influence; he just annoyed you.”

“Well, I don’t like him.”

“Still not a reason to end his existence. No, I’m done discussing it. Let’s move on and talk about something else. Any subject will do.”

Delilah raised her hand. “I have a question. Do you think there’ll be a repeat of what happened with you and Cain?”

There was no denying that staying clear of the Ancient would be for the best, but Wynter knew herself well enough to know that … “If he made another move, I probably wouldn’t resist.”

The kitchen door slowly opened, and then Hattie shuffled inside, muttering something under her breath.

Anabel frowned. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t find my copy of Fifty Shades,” replied Hattie, sitting on the only empty chair at the table. “It has to be here somewhere.”

“I thought you preferred the movie anyway,” said Anabel.

“Only because that Jamie actor is a dish.” A dreamy smile took over Hattie’s face. “I would love to meet him, you know.”

“You would?”

“Oh yes, I’d love to talk to him.”

“About what?”

Hattie hesitated. “Well, I don’t know, I’d just love to talk to him. Wouldn’t you?”

Anabel’s nose wrinkled. “No, not really.”

“Why not?” demanded Hattie, seeming offended on his behalf.

“I don’t even like talking to people I do know. I have absolutely no desire to strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger. You know who he is.”

“I know his name and his occupation. I also know that the guy who used to sell me herbs was called Horatio.”

Xavier snickered and chugged down the last of his coffee. “She makes a good point, Hattie. Which doesn’t happen often.” Ignoring Anabel’s scowl, he cocked his head and said, “I can hear voices outside. Seems like people are already gathering at the gate. We ready to open our shop, people?”

There was a round of yeses, and then everyone got moving.

The day went well. More potions were sold, more bespelled cosmetics were purchased, and more baked goods flew off the metaphorical shelves. Xavier’s custom also picked up, and Wynter had plenty of people appear with weaponry.

Since many customers paid in trade, the fridge and kitchen cupboards were soon packed with food. Bags of toiletries, household accessories, and clothing were also handed over.

At the end of the workday, Wynter and her crew ate dinner and, like yesterday, distributed the ‘goods’ they’d been given in trade. They then set up a corner altar in the living room, adding a number of items such as an athame, candles, a bell, and a small cauldron.

They also added a few touches to their front yard, including a welcome mat and some hanging baskets overflowing with fern. Following that, they worked as a team to add some live plants to the backyard for Delilah and Anabel’s concoctions. There was mint, lavender, foxglove, and heather but to name a few.

Looking forward to trying her new green-tea scented shower gel, Wynter was soon stood under the hot spray in her private bathroom. Her thoughts—just as they’d annoyingly often done throughout the day—strayed to Cain; strayed to what they’d shared in the mist.

Christ, she’d never been fucked like that. And she wasn’t only talking about the whole soul-gasm part of the night. The proprietary way he’d touched her, the forceful thrusts with which he’d taken her, the punishing grip on her ass, the words he’d spoken in that goddamn sex voice … The bastard had ruined her, just as he’d promised he would.

As the memories flickered through her mind, she found her hand drifting down her body. Her eyelids drifted shut as she touched herself—rubbing her clit, stroking her slit, circling the entrance of her pussy. She dipped her fingers inside … or tried to. She couldn’t. Couldn’t. Like there was a barrier there or something. One she couldn’t internally feel, but one that nonetheless stopped her fingers from sliding inside.

Realization hit her, and her mouth dropped open. That motherfucker.

*

Cain was deep in discussion with one of his aides when a knock came at the door of the solar room. “Yes?” he called out.

Maxim entered. “You said I was only to disturb you if there was an emergency or if a particular visitor arrived. In this instance, it is the latter. What would you like me to do?”

Cain felt his lips hitch up. This could be fun. “Send her in.”

After Maxim left, Cain dismissed his other aide and then draped one arm over the back of the sofa as he waited impatiently for his witch to appear. His creature reared up, eager to see her.

Maxim soon escorted her into the room. To Cain’s disappointment, her poker face was firmly in place. He doubted it would be too hard to crack the mask, though.

“Leave us,” he told his aide, who then nodded and walked out.

Her chin inched up. “I think there’s something you forgot to tell me,” she said, her voice carefully even.

Cain pursed his lips. “No, I don’t believe so.” He was terribly impressed when she didn’t so much as narrow her eyes. Letting his gaze roam over her, he said, “You’re wearing too many clothes. Take them off. I didn’t get to strip you bare last night. I want to see every inch of you. Show me.”

“Or you could explain what the hell you did to me.”

“I did a lot of things to you,” he reminded her, pitching his voice low and deep. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Cain arched a brow. “I do?”

“Yeah, you do.”

“There are just so many things you could be referring to. At least give me a hint.”

Finally, the poker face crumbled. Her stunning eyes flared, and that edible mouth tightened. More, she pinned him with one of her trademark hunter stares that thickened his blood and enticed his inner creature.

She set her hands on her hips. “You’re gonna play dumb now? Really?”

Smiling, he stood. “No. I just want to hear you tell me how you came to discover what I’d done.” He covered the ground between them in three fluid strides. “Did you try to get yourself off? Hmm?” It couldn’t have been that someone else did it. After he’d publicly made his interest in her so abundantly clear, no one would have dared touch her that way.

She folded her arms. “Tell me what exactly you did.”

“Simply ensured that the only person whose tongue, fingers, and cock you can take inside you are mine.”

Her lips parted. “Seriously? You seriously did that?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you don’t think that’s wrong, not to mention messed up?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Jesus, you’re on dope, aren’t you? There’s no other way you’d pull a stunt like this and think it was acceptable.”

He tipped his head to the side. “I strike you as someone who cares what’s acceptable?”

“After this, no, no, you don’t. You need to undo what you did.”

“Why?”

Her brows snapped together. “What do you mean why? Because it’s not normal.”

“To you, maybe not.” He lightly tapped her cheek with his finger. “But don’t judge me by the standards of mortals, Wynter.” In truth, what he’d done was perfectly normal for his kind when they were possessive. But there was no way he could tell her that.

“And how would you feel if … you know what, scrap that. Something tells me that empathy isn’t your thing. But come on, Cain, not only did you insert some kind of barrier inside me, you didn’t even think to tell me. Why not? Why, knowing it would make me even more pissed about the situation, did you decide to leave me to find out on my own?”

“Truthfully?” Cain hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “Because fucking with your pretty little head makes me hard.” And while pressed firmly against him, she was able to feel the evidence of that.

Long moments went by as she simply stared at him. “You know, someone mentioned you were a mental sadist. I thought they were joking.”

“No, ‘mental sadist’ fits. And you’re still wearing too many clothes. I told you, I want them off.”

“What I want is for you to undo what you did.”

He smoothed one hand down her back and palmed her ass. “I don’t think it bothers you quite as much as you’d like me to believe it does. A part of you gets off on what I’ve done; on knowing I’d go so far to make sure no one else can have you.”

“And that part of me is as mentally sadistic as you, so I discount everything it wants and feels.”

He chuckled. “You’ve surprised me yet again, little witch. I expected you to deny it. In fact—” He cut off as knuckles rapped on the door. “Yes?”

Maxim stepped inside, his expression apologetic. “Sorry to disturb you, but Seth would like to see you. He says it’s very important.”

Sighing, Cain stepped away from Wynter. “I’ll be back in a moment. Wait here for me. Don’t leave.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry that I’ll go anywhere.” She gave him a look that said she wouldn’t be moving from that very spot until he’d done as she ordered. Something he absolutely could not do—his creature wasn’t ready to let her go yet; it would take the matter into its own hands if Cain refused to ensure it had what it wanted.

Putting the matter aside for now, Cain crossed to his aide. “Where is my brother?”

“The manor,” replied Maxim. “He said you’ll find him in the main parlor.”

Cain headed upstairs to his chamber and over to the life-size mirror. He splayed his hand on the glass, and it instantly turned to rippling black water. He stepped through it and, utterly dry, stepped out of an identical mirror in one of the manor’s bedrooms.

He made his way downstairs and into the main parlor, not bothering to first knock on the door.

Sitting on one of the sofas with his aide at his back, Seth tipped his chin at Cain. “Hello, brother. I’ll be with you shortly. Although you’re welcome to stay and hear their story.” He gestured at the two men seated on the opposite sofa. “This here is Ed and Artie. They’re bounty hunters.”

Not yet sure why Seth was acting as though he hadn’t called for him to come, Cain chose to play along. “Is that so? And just what would they be doing here?”

“Me and Ed were hired by people from Aeon,” the one who had to be Artie said. “They sent us after a witch. They want her brought back alive.”

“We’ve been on her trail for a while,” said Ed. “We caught up to her once. She killed two of our group. And I mean eviscerated them. She got better at covering her tracks after that, but we’ve been at this a long time. We managed to track her down.”

Cain looked from one male to the other. “I’m guessing you believe she’s here.”

“We do,” Ed confirmed. “It makes sense that she’d come here. You offer sanctuary to people on the run.”

“If you know we offer sanctuary to such people,” began Seth, “you must also know we don’t give them up.”

Artie gave a slow nod. “We do know that. But we figured if we explained that the Aeons want her, you might be inclined to hand her over. I mean, they were once your people until …” Until you lost to them in a war, he didn’t add but left implied.

Seth looked at Cain. “Her name is …” Trailing off, he cut his gaze to Artie. “What did you say it was again?”

“Wynter Dellavale,” the bounty hunter replied.

Everything inside Cain went very still, including his monster. He didn’t allow his expression to alter, not yet certain he wanted the hunters to be aware that she was a resident here.

Now understanding why Seth had called for him, Cain asked, “Why do the Aeons want her?”

“We don’t know,” said Ed. “They didn’t say. At first, they wanted her dead. But that changed. They didn’t explain why.”

“I got the impression they want her badly,” Artie added. “Look, we asked to speak with an Ancient because we know better than to touch the property of one without first seeking permission.”

Cain raised a brow. “Did you believe that wish would be granted?”

Artie sighed. “I heard that Ancients sometimes grant that permission, depending on the circumstances.”

“We do indeed. As for this particular circumstance …” The way Cain saw it, he had two choices. Deny she was here, or make it clear that she was under his protection and that any hunters who came for her would die—that would make the price on her head invalid. People from Aeon might come for her, but that would be something he’d welcome.

Cain chose the latter option. “This is what you’re going to do. You’re going to leave Devil’s Cradle. You’re going to spread the word that Wynter Dellavale is in my service and under my protection; that I will kill anyone who tries cashing in on the bounty. And, no matter what the people of Aeon offer you, you will cease trying to capture her. You may, however, pass on her location to them. If they want her, they’ll have to come get her.”

Artie nodded. “We’ll pass on that message.”

Once Seth’s aide guided them out of the parlor, Cain turned to his brother. “Azazel’s source informed him that a witch was recently exiled from Aeon. I hadn’t suspected it was Wynter—she came here as part of a coven. Although, to be fair, she never once claimed they were a coven.” In fact, she’d repeatedly told him that they weren’t. “The others made that claim.”

Seth twisted his mouth. “Why do you think the Aeons want her?”

“We won’t know unless we ask her. She’s currently in my Keep, so I suggest we do exactly that.”

They’d taken no more than three steps out of the room when they saw Azazel heading their way. The Ancient frowned. “There a problem?”

“We’ll explain on the way,” Cain told him.

*

Wynter handed the broadsword back to Maxim, who studied its brand-spanking new runes with utter fascination.

“And this enchantment will work on anyone the blade slices?” he asked.

“Yes, including you, so be careful,” she advised. “You wouldn’t truly be itching all over, but you’d think that you were, so you’d scratch and scratch and scratch—it’s not only distracting, it’s maddening. But it will stop after twenty minutes or so.”

“That’s … I’m impressed. Very.” He carefully sheathed his sword. “Thank you, Wynter.”

“No, thank you,” she said as he handed her payment.

She’d no sooner stuffed the cash in her pocket than a gentle breeze swirled around her ankles and traveled up her legs, fairly humming with warning. It wasn’t a warning of danger, though. More like a heads-up that she needed to be prepared.

The solar room door opened, and Cain stalked inside. He wasn’t alone. Seth and Azazel followed him into the room. And as all three men honed in on her, their expressions hard and intense, she suspected that at least one of her secrets were out.

Hell.

Maxim briefly greeted them before breezing out of the solar and abandoning her.

Cain stepped toward her, his bottomless eyes settled on her with a mind-melting focus that—even right then, despite the circumstances—did far too interesting things to her hormones. “Wynter, this is Azazel and my brother, Seth.”

Azazel squinted. “The Priestess of the Bloodrose Coven, right?” It felt like a trick question.

“No. My crew says that shit to wind me up.” She returned her gaze to Cain. “Well, I see you’re busy, so I’ll get going.”

“There’s no rush,” he said, his voice smooth and casual, yet there was a firmness there that insisted she stay. “You might be interested to know why I was called away just now.”

“Oh?”

“Bounty hunters requested an audience with an Ancient. They’re looking for someone in particular.”

Her insides seized. “Bounty hunters usually are.”

“In this case, they’re seeking a witch. A witch by the name of Wynter Dellavale. You. And they’re seeking you on behalf of the people of Aeon.”

“Yeah, so?”

He blinked. “You failed to mention that they wanted you when you came here looking for sanctuary.”

“You said you weren’t interested in what brought me or my crew here,” she reminded him. “Are you going to hand me over to the bounty hunters?”

He gave her a pointed look. “You and I have a verbal contract, remember?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He closed the small space between them, pinning her gaze with his own. “I sent them away, Wynter. I will send away anyone who comes for you, or I will kill them—one or the other.” He stared at her like she was a puzzle he was desperate to solve. “Tell us why the Aeons want you.”

It wasn’t a request; it was a demand. And considering the Aeons might very well bring trouble to their door, she supposed it was only fair that the Ancients understood the situation. Not that she’d tell them everything. But then, they didn’t need to know everything.

“They exiled me,” she said.

“I know that much. But why?”

“My old coven lives in the town. Occasionally, people are ‘chosen’ to live among and directly serve the Aeons in the city below. In the opinion of the newly appointed Priestess, Esther, I was a weakness in the coven that would prevent them from being chosen, so they wanted me gone.”

“Why did they consider you a weakness?” asked Azazel.

“Because my magick is dark,” she replied. “Impure. Unworthy. Tainted. Or, at least, that’s how they see it.”

Azazel’s brow lifted. “You don’t?”

“No,” she said. “Whether or not magick is bad depends on the intentions of the user.”

He inclined his head. “True enough. I heard a witch was exiled but that the keeper who was meant to escort her to the border instead ran off with her. Was he killed by people on your trail?”

Just remembering that little shit stain made her nostrils flare. “Wagner didn’t attempt to escort me to the border. The Aeons claim they steal the memories of exiled people, put them to sleep, and then have someone drive them out of there. I learned something when I was exiled. I learned that, in fact, they paralyze you with power so that you’re easy for keepers to toss over the falls. The exiled are never truly banished. They’re killed.”

“But you escaped,” said Cain.

“I escaped. And Wagner got what was coming to him in the process.”

Cain’s eyes drifted over her face. “Why do the Aeons want you so badly? It cannot possibly be merely because you murdered a keeper and fled.”

She moved to a display table on which a potted plant sat. Wynter dug a finger into the soil and injected a thread of magick into it. Within mere seconds, the plant wilted, dried up, and decayed until it was utterly unsalvageable.

Cain regarded her with renewed interest. “You’re the cause of the rot.”

She slowly nodded. “I’m the cause of the rot.”