The Crossing (Immortals) (7 page)

"I... I was only using it as a distraction. To get away. I
wasn't going to"-she swallowed-"follow up on it. Let
me go. Please."

"Is that what you really want?" His hips rotated crudely,
his erection stroking her intimately through his jeans and
her fatigues. Arms spread and pinned, brain fogged, uncertain of her adversary's power, Artemis cringed with horrible
vulnerability. Unsettling green eyes watched her closely. The undisguised lust she saw reflected there told her he
hadn't been completely unaffected by her ill-chosen spell.

A wave of shuddering lust passed though her. Her captor's breathing was just as harsh as her own. Gods. If he
shoved her into the backseat of the car right now, she
doubted she'd have the strength-or the desire-to stop
him from taking what he wanted.

Her gaze shot to the door of the shabby grocery. The
plastic pumpkin in the window leered back at her. If only
someone would-

"No help from that sodding American jack-o'-lantern,
love. I've got a pretty strong glamour on us at the moment. We're all but invisible."

Of course. If she looked at just the right angle, she could
see the energy of his concealing spell, rising like heat on a
searing summer day. Her throat closed.

"What are you going to do to me?" she croaked.

He frowned down at her. "I haven't decided. Get in the
car. And no sudden moves."

Her relief when he released her was so intense she
didn't even consider disobeying. She'd felt enough of his
strength-both magical and mundane-to know she
wouldn't get far. He opened the car door and she climbed
in behind the steering wheel.

He got in after her. "Keep going, love. Other side."

She scrambled over the shift to the passenger seat.
A desperate lunge for the opposite door handle proved
fruitless-the lever wouldn't budge, and the button that
worked the lock didn't move. He'd jammed it, magically.

Of course he had.

Her captor made a slight throat-clearing sound. She
looked back to find him watching her.

"Running's not an option. You've got some explaining
to do."

Explaining? Oh gods. This couldn't be happening. She'd assumed this was a random attack. But now she wondered.
Could he know? She realized her fingers were creeping toward the moonstone and she stilled her hand abruptly. Casually, she let it drop to her lap.

He hadn't seemed to notice. Good. That was good.
With any luck, she could keep his attention away from the
stone until she got rid of him.

If she could get rid of him.

She swallowed her panic. "Who are you?"

"Me? Just a friend of the faerie village you attacked.
That wasn't too wise, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"My dear little witch. Lying's even less of an option
than running."

"I'm not-" The expression on his face cut her dead.
"All right," she amended hastily. "I do know what you're
referring to. But it wasn't an attack. It was a mistake, that's
all. Once I realized what had happened, I fixed it. And I
won't be going back, so there's no harm done. So you can
just let me go and-"

"Sorry, love. No can do."

"Stop calling me that. I am not your love."

"No? Well, then. You should watch where you toss your
lust spells."

His smile was wolfish, and it didn't reach his eyes.
Artemis felt herself responding to it, anyway. The effects
of the rebounded spell were still raging at full force.
When his gaze drifted down her body, igniting a slow trail
of fire, she nearly groaned out loud.

She wanted to touch him. Taste him. Instead, she
crossed her arms over her breasts like a shield. Lust spells
were self-limiting; the sensations racketing through her
body would fade in a few minutes. She could hang on to
her sanity until then. She hoped.

But could she escape him? She wasn't sure what kind of magic would be most effective against him. The shield he
had on his power made it impossible to figure him out. How
could she fight him if she didn't even know what he was?

"Look." She hoped like hell her desperation didn't
show. "Just leave inc alone. I'm outta here, anyway. You'll
never see me again."

"And what a shame that would be. We'd never have a
chance to discuss that exceedingly odd spell you cast on
the faeries."

Her jaw dropped. "You felt that? But how... I thought
I'd..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"Thought you'd covered your tracks, did you? Not
quite well enough, love."

"No one could have tracked that spell. No one." Except
that, apparently, he had. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" he countered. He reached out and
plucked the pack from her lap. The clasp opened so easily
she was sure he'd used magic to unfasten it.

"Hey! Give that back!"

He blocked her grab neatly with his left elbow and
tugged open the zipper. She watched, stomach churning,
as he tossed her driver's license and passport into the backseat without so much as a glance.

"I thought you wanted to know who I am," she said.

"I wasn't talking about your name, love."

"I am not," she muttered, "your love."

He pulled out her map. She held her breath as he gave it
a fleeting look and started to toss it after the passport.
Then, to her horror, he brought it back into his line of vision, frowning slightly.

He sent her a sidelong look. "What's this, then?"

"What does it look like? A map. I got it at the airport in
Glasgow."

"No doubt you did, love," he said, shaking out the folds
and setting it on the steering wheel.

"Lost?" Artemis taunted.

"No more than you," he replied, passing his palm over
the map.

Artemis's head fell back against the headrest as the telltale glowing lines spread across the page. Goddess. How
the hell had he guessed? She was screwed now. Big time.

His jaw hardened. He didn't speak as his sharp gaze
took in the ley lines and the marks denoting the faerie villages she'd skimmed. The notes scrawled beside them
tracked her progress from Glasgow into the Highlands.
Names, dates, village population estimates. The numbers
denoting the value of the life energy she'd stolen were
particularly damning. She'd used demon notation, since
demons were the only beings who objectively quantified
such resources.

Damn her for her obsessive need for clarity and organization. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should never have kept
notes.

His ominous silence dragged on as he read each and
every word and number she'd written. She waited, barely
breathing, fighting an unholy urge to squirm. Instead, she
concentrated on identifying a spell likely to best him.
Since he was so angry on behalf of the faeries, it was likely
he was a life-magic creature. Was it best to fight him with
a light or dark spell? Should she cast something here in the
car? Or wait until they were out in the open?

She was so intent on her plotting that when he did
speak, she jumped.

"Explain yourself."

She met his gaze. "No."

His jaw went rigid, his eyes darkening to forest green.
Anger pulsed in the space between them, hot enough to
burn.

Artemis half turned, pressing her back against the passenger door, her body poised for defense. Breathe, she told
herself. Breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. Balance. That was the key. It always was.

Too bad this stranger had tipped her world on end.

Slowly, carefully, he refolded the road map. Then, with
a single, brutal motion, he ripped it in half.

She jumped.

Watching her closely, he stacked the halves and ripped
them again. A flick of his finger ignited the paper. Artemis
gasped. The map burned to dust in his palm and he didn't
even flinch. Four months of painstaking magical detective
work, gone in a heartbeat.

She went deathly still. She wanted to cry. She wanted to
smash her fist into his face. From the look in his eyes, he
knew it. She bit back the curse on her lips.

"So. You've been stealing life essence since the summer
solstice. From no less than twenty-seven faerie villages."

"Twenty-six," she muttered. "The last one doesn't count."

"Demonwhore?"

She bristled, even though it was a fair assumption.
Demons thrived on life essence. Their human slaves often
went to great lengths to secure it for their masters.

"No," she said.

He regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded once. "I
think I believe that. Your aura doesn't have that sick gray
tinge. Not a whore, then. But a puzzle, even for me.
You're not, I think, entirely human."

"I don't know what that has to do with-"

She broke off, startled, when his fingertips brushed her
cheek.

He was still angry, but his touch was incredibly gentle.
The contrast left her trembling. He traced her cheekbone,
her jaw. The line of her neck. The sensation sent a tingle
through her senses, faintly sexual in nature, though her
misfired spell had faded almost entirely by now. She'd
never felt anything like it before, but after a moment or
two she understood what he was doing.

He was reading her magic.

She shrank back against the passenger door, but there was no place to go. He moved with her, his big hand cupping her
head, cushioning the smack of her head against the window
glass. His thumb brushed over her lips, warm and firm.

She stared up at him. He was far too close, and what he
was doing... she could feel him, inside, brushing the
edges of her psyche. It was far, far too intimate a touch.

"Stop it." She hated how her voice trembled.

"Hush, love."

His green eyes gazed at her. Or more accurately, gazed
through her. Seeing, she was sure, things she did not want
to reveal. She tried to make herself very small. He prevented it, with nothing more than a brush of his fingers on
her cheek. She felt as though she were caught in some
bizarre dream.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on drawing her
next breath. Oxygen didn't come easily. Gods. What was he
doing to her?

Finally, finally, he drew back, breaking the contact. By
that time, she'd slid so far down the seat she was practically lying down. He slammed the driver's door shut, closing her in with him. Hastily, she shoved herself upright,
gathering her shredded dignity as best she could.

He regarded her with open curiosity. "You're mostly
human. But there's quite a bit more. A bit of naiad, perhaps? Or something similar?"

There was no point in lying. "My great-grandmother
on my mother's side was a mami wata. An African water
spirit."

"Ah. Water magic. Explains the ease with which you cast
that lust spell."

"Yes."

"And do you have a dryad somewhere in your family
tree?"

"Sort of. My great-grandmother on my father's side was
a Norse giantess from the Iron Wood."

"Earth magic. And... sprite for air magic?"

She sighed. "No. My air magic is much stronger than a
sprite's. There's a Native American shaman somewhere on
my mother's side. At least four generations back, as far as I
know. A shape-shifter who received his magic from a
thunderbird spirit."

"Do you have fire as well?"

"Yes. One of my ancestors from India was an atharvavedic priest."

His brows arched. "Quite the cultural mix you are. Born
in America, then?"

"Yes. Hawaii. But I've lived all over the world. Army
brat," she added at his questioning gaze.

His gaze flicked to her jacket. "Followed your parents
into the service, did you?"

"Yes," she grumbled. "Psychic ops. But I'm a civilian
now."

His expression was bemused. "I'll bet they were sorry to
lose you. Witches connected to all four elements are exceedingly rare."

"I know that."

"And that's just your life-magic heritage. There's more,
isn't there?"

She bit her lip. She knew what was coming.

His voice took on a hard edge. "You're part demon."

She forced a terse nod.

"How far back?"

"My father's grandmother was a demonwhore. His
mother was the product of that union. And I might as well
tell you, there's another demon-a Japanese oni-way back
on my mother's side. And I have lesser death-magic ancestors, too. A couple of Norwegian trolls, on my father's
side."

He was silent for a moment; then, "Interesting family
you have, love."

A hysterical laugh escaped. "That's one way of putting it."

"And yet-" His lips crooked in a ghost of a real smile.
"You've got the look of an angel."

She raised her brows. "Angels are blond."

"A dark angel," he clarified.

His voice sounded strange. She couldn't interpret the
new expression that had crept into his eyes. He cupped
her face again, one hand on either side this time.

And then, before she quite realized what he intended,
he leaned forward and kissed her.

She tasted like honey. Smelled like that wild, perfect moment that rode before a breaking storm. Felt like that
breathless instant at the start of a show, when he took the
stage before thousands of cheering fans. Mac ravaged
the witch's lips, taking full advantage of her startled gasp.
His tongue quested inside the slick mystery of her mouth
as he maneuvered around the stick shift and pressed her
body into the leased car's stained upholstery. He fought
the urge to rip her ragged army jacket to shreds.