My Wicked Enemy (19 page)

Nikodemus kept his gaze locked with Carson’s. “Go downstairs, Harsh,” he said. “She’s not ready for this. She doesn’t understand how it is with fiends. Not yet.”

But Carson had reached out and touched Harsh’s arm because he looked so sad. The tips of her fingers tingled at the contact, and she felt Harsh’s mental presence in her head. He longed to be physically and mentally close with others of his kind. She lifted her hand, and the connection cut off. When she touched him again, the sensations flooded back.

“What is that?” she whispered.

Nikodemus’s presence in her head got wound very, very tight. “It’s what fiends are, Carson. We connect mentally. We need that connection to be whole and healthy. She stretched out her hand again, and this time when she touched Harsh, his eyes changed. From chocolate brown to scarlet and then back. His face changed. His skin changed, and Carson was sure she was hallucinating. She snatched back her hand.

“He’s been free all this time,” Harsh said. He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t. “This is how it always is for him. He’s never been cut off the way I was. Isolated from everyone he loves or could love.”

Nikodemus threw an arm back and grabbed on to the headboard, bringing them both up, him and Carson and then Harsh, his hand locked on Harsh’s chin. He kept an arm around Carson. “No more freelancing for you, Harsh.”

Harsh went icy. A regular glacier.

“What’s the problem, Harsh?” Nikodemus said. His voice had lost all trace of that silky warmth. “Can’t I trust you? Because if I can’t, you aren’t getting near Carson. I’ll personally see to that, Doctor Harsh. You want this so bad, then you join me. Formally. The way it ought to be done.”

“Of course, Warlord.” Harsh inclined his head, and when he lifted it, he recited the oath Carson had already made. At the end, she thought she felt something from Harsh, a sense of peace and acceptance. Of being where he belonged. Only this time, she wasn’t touching him.

Nikodemus’s biceps bulged when he opened a cut on the underside of Harsh’s jaw. Bright blood filled the score, and she felt a leap of hunger at the scent and the color. She wanted to be closer to the smell, to breathe it in and let the taste spread over her tongue. Nikodemus pressed his mouth to Harsh’s jaw, and Carson tasted copper in her mouth and gasped at the rush of Harsh into her head, brought there by Nikodemus. Harsh’s arm came up and he wrapped a palm around the back of Nikodemus’s head and held him there.

The sizzle went deep in Carson’s body, and it didn’t stop even when Nikodemus released Harsh physically and came fully back to her. She caught a glimpse of Harsh’s face. His eyes were dazed and unfocused, his mouth damp, lips parted because he was breathing as hard as Carson. Nikodemus held out his arm and drew the side of his finger along the bend in his elbow. Blood welled there, and Harsh bent and tasted. She felt the psychic lockdown that cemented Harsh’s oath and bound him to Nikodemus.

Harsh bent over them. “He’s bound you, too,” he said to Carson. He came closer to her, his breath warm against her temple, stirring strands of her hair. “And it is splendid, Carson Philips.”

She put her hand over Harsh’s, and he filled her head until she gasped at the onslaught of sensation from him and Nikodemus, different from anything she’d felt before, darker feelings, bigger, wider, and at the same time incredibly compressed. She felt joy at being with her own kind at long last. More than anything, she wanted to touch Harsh and Nikodemus, to taste their blood on her tongue, to have her skin against theirs. An image flashed into her head, an instant only, of the three of them making love, Harsh touching Nikodemus, kissing him, and then her and—

Nikodemus changed.

He grabbed the fiend’s arm, breaking their contact. Her vision snapped back to her body. “It’s too much for her, Harsh,” he said. “Some other time, when she understands more about what she is now.”

“Warlord . . .”

“Harsh.” Nikodemus turned around, and Carson felt the edge of his anger. “That’s enough. Enough.”

“She’s not safe when you’re this distracted,” Harsh said.

Nikodemus leaned forward and grabbed Harsh’s face in his hand. He stared at Harsh, and Carson knew Harsh wanted to kiss Nikodemus, because she felt his desire. She also knew that Nikodemus no longer intended to make love to her. That when Harsh had said it wasn’t safe, he was right, and Nikodemus had changed his mind.

A violent warning moved from Nikodemus to Harsh. “Get. Out. Of. Here.”

As expected, the warlord and Harsh stuck to the witch like a mageheld fiend to his master, a fact that meant grabbing her again wasn’t going to be easy this time. Every now and then Nikodemus would get an intense look about him. Xia couldn’t feel what he was doing, but he could guess. It’s what he would do if he were out here in public with Magellan’s missing witch: send out pulses of magic to check for the presence of fiends and mages. Didn’t do him any good. Even a warlord like Nikodemus couldn’t feel a mageheld fiend, and Rasmus and Magellan were keeping themselves out of range.

He followed the three through the mall. A shopping trip for the little witch. How precious. They were tireless. Goddamn. How many stores were they going to hit? He had on his leathers again, and when he let himself get distracted by her, sometimes he made too much of an impression on the humans. A few of the female ones would have tempted him before, but he wasn’t in the mood. Not since he’d gotten a taste of Carson Philips.

No doubt about it, her magic was a hell of a lot stronger than it had been before. Magellan’s ritual had gone awry, a real fuckup, what with the witch interfering as she had. Now that he was close enough to her to feel her magic, Xia thought she felt disturbingly fiendlike. Even a hint of the kin slivered his soul. It was impossible of course, since she was a witch and he was cut off from his kind. The only fiends nearby were Rasmus’s other magehelds, and Xia could sense them only through Rasmus.

He watched the three for a while, trying to get a fix on what was up with her and her two fiends. Harsh he knew, and he didn’t feel Harsh at all, and Harsh had once been his brother in slavery. The witch and the warlord were all lovey, and both of them were trying not to let the other one know they were gaga over each other.

That got him to thinking. If she made herself all soft and easy and sweet for the warlord, which she did—the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking was downright sickening—then why not for him? Obviously, she liked to get done by a fiend. And he was a fiend. How perfect was that?

His cell phone rang. Rasmus. He waited until the last possible moment to press the headset button and pick up. “What the fuck do you want?”

The happy threesome headed for the shoe department. Carson hung back, and Xia’s heart beat harder. But Nikodemus came back for her and even kissed her. Totally giving her tongue. Things got a little hot for a bit, but the warlord pulled away and they rejoined Harsh.

“Temper, temper,” came Rasmus’s voice over his Bluetooth headset.

How the hell had Harsh gotten free of Rasmus? He thought about snatching Harsh and working him over until he gave it up. But a Harsh who wasn’t mageheld anymore was dangerous. He didn’t know what he’d face if he got down with Harsh. “I’m busy.”

“Still?”

Xia had no trouble imagining the mage’s face as he spoke. And even less imagining his own fingers around Rasmus’s throat. Squeezing. Tighter and tighter. He couldn’t get even a flicker from Harsh. Not an atom of a flicker, and all a mage’s fiends felt at least an echo of each other through the mage. With a little concentration, he could feel his fellow magehelds out in the parking lot. But not Harsh. The guy had really and truly been cut free. Xia couldn’t remember the last time Rasmus had lost a fiend. Harsh’s freedom wasn’t going to last, though. Magellan was positioning his fiends in the parking lot, because he was hot to have the witch and the talisman back. Poor mage didn’t get his way, and now he was all pissed off and taking it out on everyone else, including Rasmus.

“You want this done, or done right?” Xia said.

Harsh was making her try on a pair of shoes. The witch was pulling faces, but she was doing it. Following a fiend’s instructions. Imagine that. When he got his hands on her, he’d have a few instructions for her.

“What I want,” Rasmus said, “is for you to do what you have been directed to do.
Por favor.
” His imitation of Magellan was spot-on.

When the mage lapsed into sarcasm, you knew steam was coming out his ears. Xia smiled. At least something was going right today. His three little pigeons left the shoe store. “Fuck you, mage.”

And then he hit the jackpot. They went to a salon, where he had to watch her get her hair cut short like she was some mageheld bitch for an asshole who liked his sex kinky. Not a buzz, but above her shoulders. After the haircut, she went into a booth with a slender human woman. He waited to see what Harsh and Nikodemus were going to do, which turned out to be nothing but sit around jawing and looking at magazines with pictures of human women with boob jobs and freaky hair. Fantastic. They weren’t close enough to feel the witch.

He got control of the human in the booth with Carson and slipped inside. She was getting a Brazilian. He figured he had ten minutes max before Rasmus harassed him again, so he didn’t waste time. He grabbed the human woman by the throat so she couldn’t make any noise and started squeezing.

“Make a sound, witch, and she’s dead. Pull any magic, and you’re dead.”

The witch grabbed the towel and covered her parts. Damn shame. He liked all those bare parts. Skin down there was so soft and tender when it was freshly naked. Interesting. She wasn’t afraid of him. “What do you want?”

He shut down the human woman’s mind and let her slide to the floor so he could draw his knife. The witch’s magic heated up. Not focused, but shit, she felt deep with it and tinged with fiendish magic that made him feel emptier than ever. The wrist Magellan had cut was nearly healed. A mage who could heal a wound like that wasn’t insignificant. If she was limited, he’d fucking hate to see what she was like when she wasn’t. “What did you do to Harsh?”

Her eyes got big, looking at the blade. “I don’t know.”

“Fuck you, witch.” He was thinking about how good she tasted. She had some Copa in her, he could feel that, too, but all that meant was she’d taste that much better. “Answer my question.” His pulse sped up. “Harsh used to belong to Rasmus, and five minutes after he meets up with you, he’s walking free. But he isn’t yours, is he? He doesn’t act like he’s your mageheld. If he was, I’d feel him.”

“He’s not.” She sat up, holding the towel over the lower half of her body. He didn’t like that she wasn’t afraid. Something was different, and he had a feeling if he didn’t figure it out, it wasn’t going to be Rasmus who killed him. The witch had severed Harsh, he was sure of it. He got his excitement tamped down. No sense telegraphing everything to Rasmus. If he was right, he was looking at his freedom.

He pressed his back against the wall. She was tiny compared to him, and in this room where he could press his hands to the ceiling without stretching, he must seem giant. Human women were funny that way. They didn’t like to be at that kind of disadvantage with a man they didn’t know. One of the fundamental weaknesses of their species. He steeled himself. It hurt, it hurt his soul to act contrary to orders. He couldn’t really, but even thinking he would betray Rasmus was like sticking needles in his heart.

“Trade, all right?” he said. “You give me the answer to my question, and I’ll see about giving you a way out of the trap you’re walking into.”

She looked at the woman lying on the floor, and he got a funny vibe from the witch. Almost like she was a fiend. But she wasn’t, so that was bogus, but it still creeped him out.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “She’s my insurance. If you don’t help me, she dies. And I promise it’ll be painful for her.”

“I thought you had to do whatever Rasmus told you.”

He pulled some power, just a trickle, and traced a line along one of the edges of his knife. The metal gleamed dull blue in the light. He wished he was doing it along her skin. Delicate traceries all along her body, drawing a net that would make her his. “I do,” he said.

“So?”

“I’m supposed to get you out in the north parking lot, where he and Magellan have their magehelds backing me up. Magellan’s going to take you and the warlord while Rasmus takes back Harsh—”

Her eyes flashed. “He can’t.”

“They’re mages. They can do anything they want.” The human on the floor moaned. Xia looked over and put a foot on her chest like he was going to stomp down. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t, but you never knew. He’d surprised himself before.

“No!”

Xia whipped his head around. She was flaring up again. Now, that had to stop or he’d have Nikodemus and Harsh in here trying to beat his ass. He pushed through into her head, and it was like butting his head against a stone wall. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you don’t get caught.”

“But now I know he’s out there.” He grabbed her injured wrist, and she still damn near slipped away from him. He held on. She didn’t feel the way he remembered. She felt better. Stronger. His orders from Rasmus helped him get dug in, wasn’t that ironic?

He smiled at her from over the tip of his knife. “Dead witches don’t remember much.” Fortunately, she blanched and didn’t consider, he presumed, that the mages might want her alive. If she concluded he’d been released from the prohibition against harming mages, well, gee. Too fucking bad.

“What is it you want to know?”

“I want to know what you did to Harsh.” He took a step toward her, knife in his hand. She was a witch and therefore could not be trusted. She’d probably lie to him. But Harsh was free, and he wasn’t, and the witch was responsible for that. He breathed in and smelled roses on her skin. Freshly shampooed hair with some flowery scent. Clean female skin. Naked down there. Maybe she was too cool right now, but he still had the advantage. “He doesn’t belong to Rasmus anymore. I want to know how and why.”

She threw up her hand and nearly lost control of the sheet. “I don’t know what I did. Not exactly, anyway.” His knife slipped and nicked her earlobe. Carson went stiff and wide-eyed, but she didn’t complain. The smell of blood sparked hunger in him.

“No sudden movements, witch.” Her heartbeat pulsed in his head, and the tart, sweet smell of her blood pulled at him and threatened to drown him. Her magic wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. She felt like a fiend and a mage, and that was just crazy.

“I touched him,” the witch said.

He leaned in, keeping his breaths shallow. “Then touch me,” he said. His back crawled like Rasmus was listening in. He wasn’t, but Xia was treading close to the kind of betrayal that would get him killed. “Touch me the way you did Harsh. Sever me, and I’ll get you out of this. That’s a promise.”

She hesitated, then put her hand on his chest, palm flat. “I touched his chest. Like this.”

Xia sucked in a breath, anticipation sending a rush of adrenaline through him. But nothing happened. Not a goddamned thing.

He stared her down. She didn’t drop her lying, betraying witch eyes.

“I told you,” she whispered. “I don’t know how I did it. It just happened.”

Fuck. He wanted to howl with disappointment. If Rasmus had released him, he would have killed her on the spot. He took a step closer, crowding her space. He thought about holding her down and checking out her freshly naked skin. “Tricks and more tricks, witch. I should kill you right now.”

“I told you, I don’t know how it happened!” She made a fist on his chest, fingers clenched. Her magic bubbled up, but inchoate, without purpose or intention. At the edges of her he felt the pull of his kind, and despair filled him because he could never connect with the kin again. He was going to belong to Rasmus until the mage decided to kill him. “There was so much going on, everything was jumbled, and I just did it. That’s all I know. It just happened. I’d sever you if I could. I swear it.”

His phone vibrated again. “Fuck you,” he said into his headset.

“I’ve come in,” Rasmus said.

Xia would have laughed if he hadn’t known Rasmus would blame him for this failure. “Then the warlord knows you’re here.”

“He doesn’t. He can’t.”

“You’ll never get them now.”

“That is not among my troubles, Xia.”

He ground his teeth.

“The witch first,” Rasmus said over the headset. “Then the warlord.”