Captivating The Witch. Michele Hauf

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      “I could do it for you and it would work. Whoever has smudged it previously wasn’t bleeding into the very pores of the stone beneath our feet. Earth magic is required. Murders,” she said suddenly and with knowing. “I don’t want to stay in this room much longer.”

      “Okay, fine, Tamatha, but give me two minutes, please?”

      “If that’s how long it will take for you to explain why you had me kidnapped, then...go.”

      “It wasn’t a—” Ed surrendered the argument with an exhalation. “My men are assholes. I apologize for their ineptitude. To get to the point...” He spread out his hands before him. “I need a witch.”

      He didn’t know if he could trust her yet. What was he saying? Why hadn’t he a plan? Damn, she was so gorgeous. He’d say anything to have another kiss.

      Really?

      “Well, well.” She lifted her chin and assumed a haughty pose, which was made all the more attractive by the tight skirt and slender gams and that curly goddess hair that Ed could still feel crushed between his fingers.

      “Well, well, what?” he asked.

      “I’m studying diabology and demonomancy. It so happens I need a demon.”

      “You mean to study? To put under a microscope and observe?”

      “Oh, not like that. Maybe a little. Textbooks and dusty old grimoires are excellent resources for learning, but I’m more of a hands-on kind of girl. I would love to have a demon to talk to and ask questions. Learn things.”

      He smoothed a palm over his hair. She was annoying and she was appealing. And he wasn’t sure which side was going to win out, but she was the only witch he had right now. And apparently a powerful one. He wanted to play her carefully, lest he became one of those demons from his mother’s faery tales. They had never survived to the end of the story.

      “I don’t do the bug-under-the-microscope thing,” he offered.

      “You want a powerful witch? You gotta bargain, buddy.”

      So that was the way of it? The magic he’d felt filling the atmosphere in the Montparnasse cemetery had been incredible. Immense. He needed dark magic to fight it, but more likely, light magic to win against it. And Tamatha looked like a witch of the Light.

      “Are you a witch of the Light?”

      She nodded. “Mostly.”

      Well, she was honest. And her hair spilled like liquid silver over her shoulders. It was gorgeous— Ah! He had to focus.

      “You said you are studying demonomancy? That’s controlling demons. How do I know you won’t try to control me? Er...again.”

      “I’d never do such a thing. I’ve never summoned a demon, either. It’s wrong to exert your control over others.”

      He lifted a brow at that one.

      She shrugged. “Well, you know, I have to practice my spells. The binding was a reaction.”

      “So you said. But it was an exertion of control.”

      “Guilty. I do have a thing for keeping things orderly, which I’ve been told is also a means of control.” She glanced around the room. “I’d show you my OCD magic, but this place is spotless. Too cold.”

      Yes, yes, so he didn’t do the decorating thing beyond the few magical items on the wall he displayed from the stash he’d acquired over the years.

      “I don’t think I can trust you, witch.”

      “You pronounce ‘witch’ as if it’s an oath or curse word.”

      Now it was his turn to offer a shrug. “Your kind and mine have never been friends.”

      “I promise you I won’t try to control you again, Ed.”

      “Witch’s honor?”

      She drew a cross over her heart, which gave him a shiver.

      “You know what it means when I cross my heart?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “Something bad, I’m sure.”

      “When we witches cross our heart, it is the truest and most sealing bond to our word.”

      That didn’t sound so awful. Rather noble, even. Hmm...

      “It would mean a lot to me,” she said, “if you would agree to answer some questions and let me, well...”

      “Study me?”

      “Not under a microscope.”

      Mercy, he didn’t want this alliance. All his rational instincts screamed—stay away from the witch! Yet the louder voice moaned in anticipation for one more kiss. Could he control her with seduction? Because he had to keep her under thumb to keep his risk low.

      But, oh, the things on her he’d like to feel gliding beneath his thumbs.

      “Fine,” he said. “So you agree to be the witch I need, if I agree to be the demon you need?”

      She nodded. Her high-voltage smile beamed to match those world-filled eyes.

      “You don’t even know why I need a witch,” he countered.

      “I assume it’s to cast a spell. Do you need me to clean this office?”

      “Uh...” He strolled the floor, walking slower as he passed beside her. She smelled like lemons hanging fresh in the tree, sweet yet spiked with a bite of sour that a man desired to lick purely for the tangy thrill of it.

      How to ask for the magic he needed without sending her running? What witch would agree to work against her kind? He hadn’t enough information on Les Douze to know if she would be open to his needs. What were his needs, beyond to destroy some dead witches? If they really were witches.

      He had to work up to that slowly. Convince her that she wanted to stop those witches, and not because a demon had asked her to. How to do that?

      She tilted her head. A lift of her brow not only took him in, but also teased. And a crook of her finger and a lick of her lips delivered the coup de grâce. Yeah, seduction. The woman was a master at it. And she hadn’t to do anything more than quirk one of those luscious brows. He could kiss her again. Right now. Pull her to him by curling his hand around the back of her neck and bruising her mouth with his until she gasped for freedom.

      The most powerful witch in Paris? He’d expected someone more...dark. And haggish, actually. Older, too. Although, he shouldn’t judge by appearance. Paranormals who lived centuries had a tendency to age so slowly one could never know if the sexy young vixen eyeing him was in her third or fourth decade, or perhaps her third or fourth century.

      But he’d never get anywhere if all he did was make out with the woman. The way he could get her to help him was to keep it businesslike. Professional. And he had to check СКАЧАТЬ