ATwistedMagick (12 page)

He kept reminding himself that it took most couples several tries to get pregnant, that he was worrying about nothing. But what if Shylah was pregnant but, worse, kept it from him? He wanted his child to grow up Catholic, not because he was devout but because that was how he’d been brought up. He didn’t want his kid growing up thinking he was a witch or warlock.

The crazy thing was that when he was with Shylah, he felt natural. When he’d fallen in love with his ex-wife, he’d felt wired before going to see her and he never quite calmed down when he was with her, like she was a queen and he the commoner. He hadn’t realized until they were married that he’d been acting different around her, so that when he’d tried to settle into married life and be himself, the fights had started. He was investigating Shylah for murder and he still didn’t feel on edge around her. He’d completely pissed her off and she’d yelled at him and he hadn’t wanted to find the nearest bar. He’d wanted to pull that little curtain around them, lean her back on her card table and fuck her until she screamed his name.

* * * * *

Shylah made a salad of greens and herbs from her indoor pots. She would move her lettuce outside soon, but thought it was still a bit cool, despite the blooming daffodils out front. Thank the Goddess it was spring. Winter had sucked and she was ready to banish it completely. Perhaps that’s what her house needed, a really good cleansing, and she could reinforce the wards on her outer doors and windows. Humming, she ran a bath, putting in charged salt and white jasmine petals. She took her time bathing, cleansing her own negativity with intent. She couldn’t very well cleanse her house if she was bogged down by her own dark thoughts. The sound of the water and the light fragrance put her in a meditative state. She dried herself and put on a white robe before finding the candles and herbs she needed to purify the house.

Shylah cleared off the coffee table that she considered the center of the house and deposited her tools and ingredients, then she went around the house opening every door and window. She used her handcrafted besom to sweep out dirt and negativity. Neighbors would think she was nuts, since the breeze was chilly despite the sun. Her process was to use the four elements to banish any negativity. She began with earth, sprinkling salt in every doorway, cabinet and on the windowsills. She followed this with a wand of sage and sweet grass, walking clockwise and stating her intent in each room. She followed the same path with a candle for fire, followed by sprinkles of water. She felt much lighter when she finished the downstairs; next she went upstairs, concentrating on her bedroom since she spent eight hours there every night.

She felt so much more centered and the whole house smelled fresh from the sage wand. Next she wanted to renew her protections in each room, so she crumbled up dried herbs, such as basil, valerian and rosemary, and bound them in white cloth with red thread. She started upstairs, closing each window, stating her intent and hanging the sachet. Downstairs she started with the solarium, closing windows as she went.

She was hanging a sachet on the hearth mantel, working her way clockwise to do the front door last, when Gabe walked in. “What the hell are you doing with your door wide open? Asking for vandals and burglars?”

Geez, did he have to be so loud? She waved her hand and shushed him before moving to the front windows. She closed each, spoke her warding spell low, hoping Gabe wouldn’t notice, and hung the sachet. Finally approaching the front door, she found the way blocked with the large man standing just inside the threshold.

“Step outside, please, so I can finish up.”

“Finish up what? What do you have in your hand?”

Shylah noticed that Gabe’s aura was in flux. She really didn’t want his negative energy inside until after she’d finished the wards. “Step outside, and I’ll explain it after I’m done.”

Luckily he stopped arguing and obeyed. She closed the door on him, spoke the needed words, then tucked the fragrant bundle into the little cone of flowers she had hanging on the door. For a moment, she contemplated just leaving Gabe outside. She didn’t want him to destroy the peace she’d created, but he was already turning the door handle and she hadn’t locked the deadbolt. She opened the door for him, and as he moved forward to the threshold, he paused and looked around the door jamb curiously. Good, the wards were strong enough to give even a non-believer like Gabe pause. She used physical locks, of course, to keep out human intruders, but the wards were meant to deflect attention from her house as well, making it less…appetizing…to a would-be burglar.

Once in the foyer, Gabe slipped out of his coat then shivered. “Damn, woman, why did you have all of your windows and doors open?” He tucked the jacket under his arm.

“I did a cleansing,” she said matter-of-factly. She lifted her chin, daring him to insult her beliefs again, also to counteract the embarrassment she felt as she remembered she was only in her light white robe.

He seemed to notice this at the same time, trailing his gaze down her body. Were the living room lights revealing the outline of her legs more than she would like? Probably, judging by the sudden hunger in Gabe’s gaze. “Naked?” he asked in a croaking voice.

“No, not naked.” She turned and marched into the living room to get away from him. She needed to keep her cool, no matter what she was feeling. That shimmering vibration low in her body needed to be sternly ignored. This time her pride was more important than her lust. “I, um, purified myself with a bath first.”

“You’re now pure?”

“Look, I don’t need your snide remarks. You can leave now.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t you know how crazy you sound?”

“Would you think the same thing if it was a Catholic priest blessing your house?”

Gabe scowled. He stepped over to the coffee table and peered down at her tools. He picked up the besom that was leaning against the table. “What is this for?”

Instead of pointing out the obvious, that it was a broom and therefore for sweeping, she said, “Did you know I was raised Wiccan, and raised by my parents’ coven after they died? I realize our beliefs seem strange to outsiders, but I have never doubted my chosen path.” She paused, daring him to laugh at her.

“So this was your parents’ religion as well?”

“Yes, and their parents’ as well.”

“Interesting.” He scratched his chin as if he was really trying to fathom growing up in a family like hers. “I grew up Catholic.”

“Then you believe in transmutation.”

“Huh?”

“That bread changes to the body and wine to the blood of Christ.” She met him at the table to explain her makeshift altar. “I chose to set up in what I judge to be the physical center of the house, and used only the tools and ingredients I needed.” Gabe nodded for her to continue. “Each of these,” she pointed to the salt, sage, candle and water in turn, “represents the four elements. I chose a sage and sweet grass smudge stick because they are traditionally used for cleansing. I chose the white candle for purity.”

“But why open all the windows and doors?”

“To banish any negative vibes and to let in fresh air.”

He walked to the window and lifted the little sachet to his nose. “What are these for? They smell good.”

“I put wards on each entryway to the house, but I like to refresh them every now and then.”

“Wards? You think these things keep criminals out?”

“Gabe, don’t be ridiculous. That’s what locks are for.” She kept her tone light, though she spoke through clenched teeth.

“Then what are they for?”

“Keeping out negative influences and entities. However, they don’t seem to be strong enough to keep out you.”

“Ouch.” He approached Shylah, where she stood stiff with fingers intertwined, turning her knuckles white. He grinned just before he swung his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. A zing went through Shylah’s body and she realized she needed to perform a libido-calming spell to keep from pining after this incredibly sexy man. “I came here to give something back to you.” He angled his arm so that his coat slid to the floor, revealing her BOS in his hand.

* * * * *

“You finished it already?”

Damn, she felt good against his arm and chest. He wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly felt compelled to hug her. He did want to get back on her better side, so that he could keep an eye on her and use her—he cringed at the thought—if necessary for the case, but he hadn’t needed to touch her for that. He’d obviously taken her by surprise, judging by her sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t jerk away and he couldn’t seem to let go. He handed the journal to her with his free hand. She accepted it and set it on the coffee table-altar.

In answer to her question, he shook his head. “No, I just needed to see the entries around the time of the murder.” He cleared his throat to cover his white lie. He’d actually skimmed the rest of the book, despite vowing to stay away from it. Her relationship with Alain steamed up the pages and made Gabe want to find the guy and bash his head in. Her last entry disturbed him the most, because the man had convinced her to slice her palm and drip blood onto a pentagram. Shylah had described the rite in detail in her BOS, described the purpose of the spell as she understood it and explained why she felt it hadn’t worked. She blamed herself for that, because she’d lost focus, doubted their purpose.

“So what’s Alain up to now?” he asked, failing to sound casual. He planned to dig up that man’s background all the way back to elementary school if he had to. Why had he taken Shylah’s hair? Could that explain her hair being found at this scene? Was he in Virginia?

She pulled away from him and moved close to the fire. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. I left New Orleans and the coven, as I’m sure you read in my book. I’ve talked to him on the phone a couple of times, so I’m pretty sure he’s still down there.”

Gabe was momentarily distracted by the fact that the glow of the fire made it much easier for him to see the outline of her sexy legs through her sheer robe.

Shylah looked over her shoulder and cleared her throat. She smiled slightly as his eyes came back up to hers. “Why do you want to know about Alain?”

“Why did you give him a lock of your hair?”

She shrugged. “He wanted it for a spell he was working on.”

“Did he say what spell?”

“It didn’t matter; I trusted him.”

“Do you know how easy it would’ve been to plant your hair at the murder scene?”

“My hair wasn’t found at Wanda Nance’s crime scene.”

“But it was here.”

Shylah gasped. “He’s not here in Virginia murdering teenagers he’s never even met.”

“But do you know for sure that he’s not here? What about the other members of your coven? Are they all still in Louisiana?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t kept up with any of them.”

Gabe took a long step into Shylah’s personal space. He slid his hands along her upper arms and looked into her eyes. “It would explain any connection between the two murders and it would put you in the clear.”

* * * * *

Shylah wished she could back away from him, but that would put her too close to the fire. She also wished she had more clothes on, because being this close to Gabe was dangerous, especially since his gaze had drifted south of her face. In fact, he seemed very entranced with her cleavage. “At this point, you and Candice are the only ones saying I’m not in the clear.”

He sighed. “My gut says you aren’t a murderer and I’m used to following my gut when I’m investigating.”

“Then why do I always feel like I’m under suspicion when I’m around you?” She noticed her nipples hardening against her robe and blamed it on Gabe’s hot gaze.

His expression was troubled, but his warm hands started rubbing her shoulders and down her arms. His thumbs traced along her biceps. “I still feel like there’s a connection here, and I owe it to Angie to keep on it. I don’t want to leave her with another failed investigation.”

“I understand you not wanting to fail your cousin, but that doesn’t mean you can hound me until something better comes along.”

Her thoughts abruptly ceased and her breath caught when Gabe’s thumbs grazed both of her nipples simultaneously. A few light circles with the pads of his thumbs, followed by a couple flicks with his thumbnails. Her flesh heated, and not just because of the fire behind her. His fingers joined the play, squeezing and twisting lightly. His eyes were on her face, observing her as he squeezed tighter, almost to the point of pain. She bit back a moan, but liquid leaked from the lower part of her body. She couldn’t help it; it felt so good.

“Gabe, you and I should not be—”

“Shh.” He placed a hand on her hip and guided her farther from the fire. Probably a safety measure since his next move was to slide that hand around her hip, down along her thigh to the nexus of her legs. “Spread your legs.”

She obeyed. With his left hand, he parted her robe at her chest and slid it down her left shoulder, while his right hand eased between her legs, tickled her curls, traced her damp labia. She closed her eyes as his fingers sought the source of her wetness. Once found, they pressed upward inside her, spreading and rubbing against her inner walls, while his thumb moved slowly over her clit. Her arms rested slack at her sides. She was letting him do this to her, enjoying every sensation, wanting to know how long he could hold out without demanding she touch him. He slid her robe off and away from her left arm, while it started to slide down her right arm too.

She opened her eyes again and stared into his soulful ones. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

He shook his head. “I crave you.”

He had gorgeous lashes. One ear was pierced but he didn’t have a stud in it, so she hadn’t noticed before. The whiskers on his chin seemed darker and thicker than yesterday, as if he hadn’t shaved this morning.

Shylah was ever conscious of his fingers deep inside her. They rubbed along her inner wall, stroking her honey spot, while his thumb circled her clit. He’d ping her favorite spot, the place that would make her come, then move away from it, a slow torture. With his free hand, he alternately flicked each nipple. Then he brought his thumb to her mouth, pressed it inside until she sucked it. Once it was wet, he rubbed it on her nipple, making it warm then chilled when the air hit it and even more sensitive. Back to her mouth, then the same technique on her other nipple. The air tickled them. She wanted to demand he suck them, but the wanting was almost to pain and the agonizing slowness was so sweet. The heat kept building and building in her body, but it was also smoldering in his eyes.