Captivating The Witch

“It’s good,” she said.

“Cleansed?” he asked incredulously, his body leaning forward in expectation.

“Of course. Can’t you feel it?”

Straightening, he spread out his palms, half-covered by the gloves, and looked about the candlelit office. Tamatha had requested only the six white candles provide the lighting while she smudged. Unnatural light would have decreased the spell’s efficacy. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly.” She stepped out of the circle and slid her feet into the pumps.

In the circle remained the extinguished candle, a calcite wand, which aided in clearing negative energy, and her amethyst-hilted athame. She’d collect them before she left. They needed time to rest, and if any residual dark energy remained, the salt would leach it out.

“You’ll have to vacuum the salt later. Give it at least eight hours to allow any remaining dark energies to dissipate.”

“Me and salt...” He mocked a shudder.

“Ah, yes, demons and salt.”

“Not so pretty.”

Well, she wasn’t a maid, but she couldn’t stand for things to be out of order. But she also didn’t intend to stick around all night. He’d have to deal with cleanup duty on his own. “So is that wine for drinking?”

Ed grabbed the bottle from a marble-topped vanity by the wall and from the cupboard underneath pulled out two goblets. “It is. Thought I’d bring out my best Beaujolais if you managed to work your magic.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take information for the cleansing.” She accepted the goblet he handed her. She quickly sipped and averted her eyes from the dark tattoo that crept up under his ear. “No remaining evil in this room now. Unless, of course...”

“Unless I create the evil myself?” he volleyed at her. His eyes had a means of dancing with hers in a challenging yet sensual manner. A defiant smolder. Such a look stirred in her core and tightened her nipples.

She shrugged and resisted falling into that appealing challenge by taking another sip of wine.

“You know, not all demons are evil. We get a bad reputation from media and silly movies.”

“Oh, I know that. Your species is vast and varied. Though, the majority can tend to be nefarious and malefic. I sense you straddle the line between good and evil.”

He didn’t respond, and she followed him to the black leather tufted couch. She sat first, in the middle, and he moved over and sat three feet away from her. Humph. Yes, well, it wasn’t a date. Maybe?

“The same goes for we witches,” she said in an attempt to defend whatever it was about her he wasn’t willing to sit close to. “We’re not all vile. Very few of us are.”

“I’ve grown up listening to faery tales of your sort. You must allow me my ingrained childhood fears.”

“Really? A big strong demon like you feels faint around a little ole witch like me?”

“No one said anything about fainting. I just like to stay on alert when in the presence of...your sort.”

“Yikes. What does it take to win you over? I’ve cleansed your office. I’ve kissed back as good as you’ve given.”

He put up an inquisitive finger. “About those kisses.”

“What about them?” Pressing a palm into the black leather, she leaned a little closer. “Want to try it again?”

“I, uh...” He actually cringed from her, which gave her pause. She sat up straight and tugged at her skirt hem. Really? Those faery tales he’d been told as a child must have been some doozies. Probably featured the classic hag. Oh, how inaccurate they could be. Most of the time.

“You said you wanted to ask me things,” he offered as if tossing the suggestion out to deflect her sudden sway toward romance. “Ask away.”

“Awesome,” she said with little of the enthusiasm she should have.

The man had the weirdest ability to attract her while repelling at the same time. She shouldn’t take it personally. But when one was kissed so well and thoroughly, it was hard to not want more.

Perhaps since they were in his office he assumed a work attitude. Though it was late, she had no idea if a secretary lingered in an office down the hall or even if his henchmen were on the premises. Business it was, then.

Kicking off her shoes, she pulled up her legs and leaned an elbow on the back of the couch so she faced him. On the floor, her shoes righted and snapped into an orderly side-by-side position.

“What the hell?” the demon asked.

“My OCD magic. I like order.”

“And control, as you’ve mentioned. But really?”

“I can’t control it. I used to control it, but eventually the urge to straighten got so strong it took on a life of its own. It works in about a five-foot range.”

“So things snap into order as you walk by?”

She nodded.

“Weird.”

“Really?” Toggling the fragrant wine goblet in her hand, she asked, “Says the corax demon who can shift to raven form.”

“More than one raven—an entire conspiracy. And that’s not weird. It’s genetic.”

“It’s still weird. Does it hurt? How is it controlled?”

“It stings like a mother for two seconds and then I don’t feel anything but the freedom of flight. Multiple times over. When I’m in that form, all the ravens fly in sync and are controlled as one by me. But if I need one part of me to do something, I can break off and fly solo. It’s complicated. Of course, shifting takes a lot out of me. I don’t do it often. Driving usually gets me wherever I need to go.”

“Is that feather on your neck related to ravens?”

He stroked the tattoo, which appeared as soft as a feather and seemed to undulate under his finger as if touched by a breeze. “It is. It’s not a tattoo but a demonic sigil. Unlike a tattoo, the sigils simply appear on my skin. It’s not ink but darker pigmented skin cells. This feather is the top of the complete sigil that stretches the length of my spine. All corax demons sport something similar.”

“That’s fascinating.” She leaned forward but cautioned herself from reaching to touch him. Much as she wanted to nuzzle her nose against his neck and breathe him in, she would not go there. Not when she could sense his need to lean back as she neared him. “Were you born here in the mortal realm or did you come from Daemonia?”

“Mortal realm, born and bred. I have a certain distrust and dislike for those from Daemonia.”

“Why?”

“My opinions are not important to your research, are they? Let’s stick to facts and avoid the personal.” He tilted back the rest of his wine and got up to refill, and then he returned to the couch with the bottle and topped off hers. He remained a good distance from her. Which annoyed her. “Next question.”

Nothing personal? He was protective of himself. Perhaps she’d read too much into his incredible kisses. Way to anticipate a fabulous date night. Not.

Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted details more than she wanted kisses.