Authors: Camilla Chafer
“I didn’t realise it had been so hard on you,” I replied stiffly, breaking the uncomfortable stretch of silence. Micah politely stared out the window, as if he were imagining he wasn’t there.
Evan ran a hand over his jaw, his lips pressed together in a stiff line. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly.
“No, it’s fine, I understand.” I stood up, smoothing imaginary creases out of my yoga pants. “I’ll leave you to get on with your work.” I was at the door, when Evan called my name tenderly. I turned, my hand on the doorknob, half expecting an apology, but instead he said, “I was going to order pizza. I didn’t have time to arrange for the kitchen to be stocked.”
“Yum,” said Micah, snapping back into the present.
I looked at him in surprise. “You eat pizza?”
“I normally eat small, sweet animals like bunnies but the fur is a bitch.” He bared his teeth at me, pausing for a moment so I could get a good look at the sharp, pointed ridges, then winked. “Of course, I eat pizza. Who doesn’t?”
Shaking my head, I looked back at Evan. “Fine.” I didn’t wait for a reply; I just shut the door behind me, my heart heavy.
As I pulled the door closed, I heard Micah say, “Nice ring your little witch is wearing.”
“Quiet!” snapped Evan. I stood on the other side of the door for a moment, frowning while I worked the ring in a circle around my finger with my thumb. The pretty jewels – rubies, emeralds, and sapphires – sparkled up at me. Evan told me that it had interesting properties; clearly it was something that Micah recognised, even if I didn’t. I didn’t want to barge back in and demand an answer, partly because my cross demeanour wouldn’t win me any favours, and partly because I didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of Micah by asking something he clearly thought I knew, even if Evan hadn’t thought an explanation were important. To be fair, he had mentioned special properties; I just hadn’t followed up on what.
I alternated between furious and worried through dinner, which arrived, steaming hot, thirty minutes after our conversation. We spread the boxes across the kitchen counter, and passed plates and napkins around the four of us. I kept my answers to a monotonous “yes” and “no” as we ate, too tired and cross to engage in the conversation. Instead, I listened as Evan and Étoile relayed what they learned individually – not much – and tried not to look at Micah who was evidently enjoying the pizza. Finally he brushed his hands together over his plate, nodded at Evan and snapped out of the room, a brief rush of heat the only thing he left behind.
“I thought magic didn’t work here.”
“Witch’s,” Evan pointed out. “Micah and I both use magic here.”
It seemed futile to argue that I was no threat, not when Evan was clearly suspicious of me, watching my every move just in case I leapt up and made a run for it. Funnily enough, the idea hadn’t even occurred to me until then. Now that it had, I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if I did just open the door and try to leave. Would there be a magical barrier preventing me? Would alarms go off?
Finally, when my eyelids were drooping, and I was slumping ever lower in my dining chair, I still wasn’t quite on speaking terms with Evan. He said goodnight to Étoile, picked me up and carried me all the way upstairs to his bedroom.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to give you the tour earlier. I expected your first visit to my home, to be very different from this.” He walked through an open doorway, kicking the door shut with his foot.
Like everything about Evan, his bedroom was understated in an elegantly masculine sort of way. Big bed in a glossy dark walnut, set off by white sheets and pale grey walls. He deposited me on the edge of the bed and the nightstand lamps came on automatically, casting a soft glow around the room as the long drapes shut themselves. Kneeling, he started to help me with my socks.
“I can manage, thank you,” I said tartly and, after a moment, he let my foot go and rocked back on his heels.
“Don’t sulk.”
“I’m not sulking.” Well, I was, a little, but most of all, I was sick with worry about what was happening. I was terrified for Annalise because I knew that death wasn’t always the worst thing that could happen to a person. It was everything that preceded death that was the big problem. Most of all, the tremendous guilt of being safe and protected when my friend wasn’t made me feel traitorous.
I wondered about Kitty and how she was treating the burns and whether Michelle was out of hospital. I thought about Gage and how worried he must be about Annalise, and Michelle, too. Then Beau, because he loved Annalise too and it must be killing him that he wasn’t there to protect her.
Evan, never one to give up, tried again. “Don’t be mad at me then.”
“How can I not be mad at you? You’ve taken away my magic and won’t let me leave.”
“I haven’t taken it away. It just doesn’t work here. This house is protected by daemon magic and I can’t strip it just because of you, or Étoile. She gets that.”
“Goody for her,” I mumbled.
“It’s to protect us all.”
“I don’t mean you harm.”
“You sure about that right now?”
That teased a smile out of me. Looking briefly relieved, Evan got up and stretched, moving round the side of the bed. I swivelled, drawing my legs up onto the bed, and watched him shuck his shirt and jeans, tossing them on an ancient-looking leather chair. Even through my anger, I could still appreciate what a fine figure he had.
“I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
“Oh, well.” Evan flicked an eyebrow, a smile slipping onto his lips.
“Mind out of the gutter. I’m too worried to think about having sex.”
“Might take your mind off it?”
Rolling my eyes, the frustration briefly at bay, I muttered, “Down boy.” Yawning widely, I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry. Long day. I don’t mean to be mad at you,” I said, by way of an apology. I really didn’t mean to be mad at him. It was the situation that made me angry. In my heart, I knew Evan just wanted what was best for me, in the same way as Beau would always do what was best for Annalise.
I did a sort of sit-down-wriggle to get out of my clothes, fished my phone from my pocket and laid it on the nightstand, then pushed back the covers to slide under. Evan joined me a moment later, pulling me into him so he could wrap his arms around me and press me into his warm body... Oh!
His warm, naked body.
For a moment, I wished I could forget everything but him.
“I don’t want to just wait around while everyone else charges off to find Annalise. She’s my friend and she’s missing because of me,” I said, snuggling against him.
“Can’t you understand that I don’t want you to get hurt?” Evan’s mouth was near my ear, his voice soft and low, anguished. “It’s not about not
letting
you do something. This is more than that. The Brotherhood might not have powers like you or I, but they’re brutal and vicious and they would think nothing about killing you.”
“Then why invite me? Why not just kill me in Wilding?”
I felt Evan shrug, his muscles brushing my back. “To get you on their turf where they feel safer and therefore, more powerful,” he said, his voice carrying just a note of question.
I squirmed onto my back, turning again to face him. “Why me, anyway? If they want a powerful witch, why not go for Étoile, or anyone else?”
“Maybe that’s just it. Maybe they don’t think you’re that powerful. Maybe they underestimate what you can do.”
“Hmm.” I mulled that over. “I could use that to my advantage.”
“If you were there, which you’re not,” Evan reminded me, unhelpfully.
“I still don’t get it. They must want me more for something than just what I am. Otherwise, why go to the bother of inviting me, making their presence known, and then kidnapping my friend? If she’s been taken to England alive, like it appears to be, well, that’s a lot of trouble, time and money spent to get me there.”
“Who knows? The Brotherhood aren’t known for being rational. They’ve killed countless people and they’re not about to turn friendly now. Use your brain, Stella. They want you dead and they’re just playing a game with you because you’re the one that got away. Maybe there’s a bonus on your head.” Evan sighed, rolling onto his back. He didn’t have to make that any clearer. The Council told me that I was the last of the English witches, the last of the blood witches whose veins ran with magic. “Stay here,” Evan urged. “I’ll keep you safe and we’ll send others to look for Annalise and bring her back. I’ll call in some favours. I promise.”
I could have laboured the point and insisted that I go, but Evan was as stubborn as I and I was too tired to press anymore tonight.
“How’d you get the scars on your back?” I asked, after we’d been quiet for a moment. I noticed them the first time we slept together and never asked about. It didn’t seem polite. At first, I didn’t think Evan heard me and I was just going to ask again when I heard him draw a deep breath.
“My father,” he said finally. “He’s a full blooded demon. They were punishment for misdeeds when I was younger, before my mother died.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is.” Another long pause then, “He can hurt you just by looking at you. It’s one of his special talents.”
“Where is he now?”
“Far away.”
“Can you do that, hurt people just by looking at them?”
“Yes, but not as powerfully and I don’t choose to.”
“What about Micah? He’s a full-blooded demon, right?”
“Yep, but not as powerful as I, even though I’m daemon, a half-blood. My father’s family are very, very powerful and it passed through to me, but I have more of my mother’s humanity. Micah, on the other hand, is from a lesser line but he’s bright and able, and he finds humans very interesting.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I huffed. Micah hadn’t given me the impression that he found anything worth his interest. I suppose I falsely assumed that most of his time was taken up trimming his impeccable facial hair. “You ever see them?”
“My father’s family? Not if I can help it.”
We lay in silence a little longer, then I edged closer, closing the space between us, and Evan wrapped his other arm around me again. I lay my head on his chest, smiling when he kissed the top of my head. Gradually, the kisses moved to my lips, growing deeper as I felt the tug of sleep slip away and turn into desire for something far better. My exasperation pushed aside for now, I drank him in, his familiarity, his warmth, his desire and, when his hands ran experimentally down my sides, then up and over my breasts, I didn’t push him away. Instead, I pressed my body against his, encouraging, welcoming, my leg sliding over his until he fit perfectly against me, every contour of his body finding solace in mine until, finally, we were part of each other.
Part of me knew already what I was planning to do, and how much it would hurt Evan. I knew I would go to England, even if I didn’t quite know how, and I knew it would probably put me in harm’s way. But leaving my friend to an unbearable fate while we took our sweet time coming up with a plan wasn’t the sort of thing I could, in all good conscience, do.
Brushing the thought away, I arched against Evan’s body, holding him closer. My arms curled under his arms so that my palms lay flat against his back, my fingers digging into his flesh. I wanted to bury myself in the bliss of loving him, knowing that I might lose him.
“I love you, Stella.” Evan’s voice was a whisper against my ear, barely audible. I wrapped my legs around his back and kissed him hard, hungrily, as he continued to move, our rhythm growing faster until our gasps and moans were muffled in each other’s mouths.
“I love you too, Evan,” I whispered as we held each other, not wanting to break apart.
I slept fitfully that night, my dreams vivid and active. I saw wolves’ eyes shining in the dark, an imposing house in the shadows. As if it were really happening, I felt myself running through a forest, branches catching at my clothes, the cloying scent of wet leaves and earth; then I was falling, falling far into the darkness.
Once, when I reached out for Evan, I thought I saw fire but I wasn’t sure if it were a dream or a vision of things to come. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, long after the house fell silent, I felt a hand press against my forehead just as everything went dark.
Eight
In the morning, no one woke up with a stunningly brilliant plan of how to get Annalise out of trouble, destroy the Brotherhood or create peace amongst witches. We did, however, manage to make three cheese omelettes with minimal fuss. Sitting around the big kitchen island, we ate, talking quietly. It seemed that no one wanted to be the first to say Annalise’s name. It was like by uttering her name, we would break a spell or something, and there would be no turning back.
Micah didn’t join us until mid-way through breakfast, and, when he arrived, he was looking sharp again in a navy blue suit complete with a patterned silk tie and matching cufflinks.
“Don’t you all look maudlin,” he said, by way of a greeting.
“Do you do casual Friday?” countered Étoile.
Micah looked at her like she’d asked if he read bedtime stories to children before he kissed them goodnight. “No,” he said, succinctly, taking in her wool pants and peacock blue silk top as she perched on one of the tall stools. “Do you?”
“Perish the thought, demon.”
“You have news to report?” asked Evan, dropping his knife and fork onto his plate and pushing it away, eyeing them with wearied amusement.
“The shape-shifter doesn’t know anything beyond what I discovered yesterday.” Micah reached for the coffee pot, saw it was empty and sighed. He rooted around in the overhead cabinet for filters and grounds and set about making a fresh pot, muttering something that sounded horrendously rude. When he was finished, he took a seat at the table. “I tried several methods.” Micah smiled disconcertingly at me. I shuddered to think what that meant.