Blood Enchantment (25 page)

Her bushy brows drop as she gives him the best evil eye he's ever received.

Slash gives a pointed look at the shotgun.

“Ah!” she says, chortling. “It's not loaded! If it comes to shooting ne'er–do–wells, all hope is lost.”

“Why?” Adrianna asks with uncharacteristic timidity.

The old woman rolls to her toes, trying to catch a glimpse of Adrianna. Slash moves her behind him.

Her eyes move over the two knowingly. “You're no threat. No you're not.”

Slash is puzzled but unwilling to let his guard down completely.

Her chest puffs up, and she moves swiftly around Slash, who angles Adrianna away, facing her the entire time. She rests the shotgun behind the door with the butt down and kicks the door closed.

A solid brass bar falls down into a crooked little holder nailed into the wood casing.

“Who are you?” Adrianna asks.

Who indeed?

“Nosey, aren't ya? You come to my house—uninvited—and think to just barge in—”

“We didn't think it was occupied,” Adrianna said.

“Well it is, isn't it, Were female?”

She turns, showing them her back, and shuffles quickly to a stove where a kettle brews. Steam evaporates as quickly as it rises. She turns, cocking an eyebrow, and puffs out an irritated breath.

“I'm a witch, girl. And you're on private property.”

Easy to remedy.
“We will leave.”

“Can't.” She says the one word as both answer and command.

The hair on his nape rises. “Why not?”

“Did ya hear me? I know a Red Were such as yourself hears better than me. The trolls, fool. You didn't sense them when you and your woman were flouncing around, making a racket that led straight to my door?”

Slash can feel Adrianna's pulse through their threaded fingers. “This
is
the Hansel and Gretel house. We're screwed.”

The witch's face changes, smoothing into a grin. “I haven't heard mention of that in years.” She gives a little sigh, as though nostalgic.

“So you eat kids?” Adrianna asks only a little in jest.

She shakes her head while Slash sizes up their chances of escape.

“No. That's another witch.”

Adrianna's grip becomes crushing.

“Then what do you eat?”

The witch puts her hands at her hips, a long skirt hiding her fingers. “Food.”

“Like people?”

Her nose scrunches up. “No, I'm a good witch. As good as the two of you are.”

Slash is skeptical of that claim. And if she knew of his transgressions, she might be less forgiving.

The witch narrows her eyes at them. “I smell death on you, Were. But rightful death carries a different scent than wrongful, yes?”

Slash nods slowly.
Wise words.

“The two of you crossed a ward I've had in place since I could hardly hold a wand.”

“You use a wand?” Adrianna asks.

Her face tightens. “What do you take me for? A novice? Of course I don't need a wand anymore.”

“Sorry,” Adrianna says, and Slash bites back a laugh.

“So how did we get past the ward?”

The witch gives them a sly glance, full of confidence and something else that makes Slash uneasy.

“True love.”

Julia

Two weeks later

Julia blinks, and before she knows what's happening, Jen has dressed her in a gauzy dress of deep cream bordering on yellow. Beads of glass grace the square neckline and cup the outside of her shoulders. Her hair is elaborately pinned up at the crown of her head with half hanging down between her shoulders in loose curls.

When she's breathed through her nerves, she descends the winding staircase in the mansion.

Scott is waiting at the bottom.

His broad shoulders strain against a tailored snowy-white button-down shirt, such a perfect contrast to his dark hair and eyes. A crisp bowtie graces his throat. Black pants encase slim hips and long legs.

He isn't wearing a coat.

Scott is so handsome, Julia gets a lump in her throat. Holding back tears, she admires her creamy satin heels, feeling so overwhelmed.

Then his arms are around her. Scott lifts her off the floor and holds her against him. Subtle fragrance of spicy male and Scott's unique scent floods her nose, and he lets her slip down his front.

She turns in his arms, looking around her and blinking rapidly to expel her laughter. Tears.

Shock.

All the Singers who lived through the genocide have gathered. New faces mingle with familiar ones, and a sigh slides between her lips. Small children, though there aren't many, try their best for quiet. But babies still squall, and mothers silence them with a kiss or a word.

Julia's at a lost, but Cyn nails it.

“Wow,” she says reverently.

“When did all this happen?” Julia asks Scott. She can feel his pride swell inside her, brimming over from his own emotional grid to her own. His thoughts mingle with hers, and she takes his hand.

They did this for us
, Julia sends them through the bridge of their meld.

Scott nods.

The edge of day burns into night. Small twinkling lights are strung from both corners of the broad front porch to tall softly illuminated lamps piercing the ground. Each lamp holds a glass oblong light. Many children hold the last of summer's wildflowers in lazy bouquets of drooping petals in every color of the rainbow.

Scott's hold tightens on her hand.

“This is all for us,” Julia says in wonder.

Scott nods. “It's about time.”

Julia couldn't have married Scott when she was married to Jason. Their rules are different. They'd allow so much because of the fact that she was the Rare One, but in her heart, Julia was still human, still culturally bound to the principles she was brought up with.

A sudden thought occurs to her, and she turns to Scott. “Do Singers really get
married
?” She'd heard the term
joining
, but never
marriage
, as humans thought of it. As Julia had.

His smile is crooked, and Julia narrows her eyes. “Tell me.”

He frowns. “We handfast.”

Handfast.
Julia smiles at the term as voices in the crowd softly swell.

“Isn't that kinda medieval?” Cyn asks quietly as she surveys the assembled crowd, and Julia laughs. “I don't know, really.”

“Yes,” Scott says, “definitely ancient.”

I guess for Singers, everything is about tradition.

“You look gorgeous, Jules,” Cyn says.

Julia smooths her hands over her dress then hugs Cyn tightly, but she pulls away. “I don't want to wreck your dress with all my blubbering.”

Julia smiles through her own tears. “Blubber away.”

Cyn nods, biting her lip to keep from outright bawling. Cyn leans forward and whispers in her ear, “He'd want this, Jules.”

Cyn doesn't have to tell her who, but Julia asks quietly, “What?”

“Your happiness.”

Julia steps away, still holding Cyn's hands, and they smile through their tears. Julia nods quickly.

Scott asks from her elbow. “Are you ready?”

Julia feels Jason's grave behind her, in the past. That life is dead, along with her husband. Julia realizes she's been grieving bit by bit for Jason since long before he died.

She gives a decisive nod. “Yes.”

Scott smiles, running his knuckles in a light caress over her jaw.

They move toward where Victor stands, a ribbon of ivory draped over his hands.

*

Victor carefully and securely ties their right hands together.

The silk cloth is wide and strong, with a slight shimmer. The colors of the sky have washed the grounds in tones of sherbet, raspberry, and deep blue, and the soft murmur of her people is a dim noise inside her head. For once, she doesn't keep them out, only quiets them.

Julia wants to feel their joy as though it's her own.

Scott looks into Julia's eyes. His are shadows in his face, but inside the dark gaze is warmth, love, and something deeper than any human male has the capacity to feel.

Victor's words flow over them. With each one, she feels their bond tighten.

Julia can still refuse, deny Scott—and crawl back into the hole of her grief or hang onto the past that's a wisp of vibrant memory that makes her at once happy and sad.

But she won't.

Julia lets everything she feels for Scott fill her expression and what she's committed to being with him.

He nods, his gaze capturing Victor's, who studies them as he gives the final word of the ceremony.

“Agape.”

He describes a special form of love that transcends this realm. The heavenly love is a perfect word for those with angelic blood.

Victor unties the binding and gives two rings to Scott. They glow in polished white gold from years of wear.

Julia holds her breath as Scott slips one ring on her finger. The metal is cold and way too big.

She glances at him sharply, her lips quirking.

“Just wait,” Scott whispers.

Julia feels the metal begin to heat and looks down at the ring changing on the left ring finger of her hand. It slims, moving like a molten circle of fire, narrowing and growing smaller until it fits perfectly.

Julia's head jerks up, and Scott holds his hand high, palm facing her. He flutters his fingers while his ring grows larger. The circle of gold matches hers in every way, but his is stuck at his middle knuckle.

As she watches, the narrow band appears to shimmer, enlarging until it slips over the knuckle then growing smaller again until it is seated perfectly between his first and middle knuckles.

She gasps in a happy little breath.

After all Julia has witnessed, she's so pleased to see a small miracle like this—one that doesn't maim, kill, or cause grief.

“A simple magic,” Victor comments, after watching her expression.

Julia looks at her hand, stretching her fingers out to admire the simple slim band.

Scott pulls her into his strong embrace, drawing her close enough to kiss.

Then he does kiss her, deeply and thoroughly. His lips are soft and tender against her mouth.

The crowd applauds, and Scott turns her to face them.

She leans against his hardness, and he places his forearm against her chest.

The Singers come: Truman, Cyn, Jen, and Michael.

Julia finds herself missing a few people who have not been found or have been killed. Brendan.

William.

Reagan. Jacqueline—once so intent on killing Julia, and now finding a new life within the sithen and maybe her full sanity along with it.

Julia's palm moves to her stomach, where the spore still lingers.

Everything is finally right in her life, though not by any means she would have wanted. However, her future is uncertain. But that's the one thing in life she can count on: uncertainty.

As people come to receive them and she stands underneath an altar of softly lit twigs, Julia gazes into Scott's face. His expression is cautiously hopeful.

For now, that's enough.

*

After

Julia

“This is too much, Scott!”

“No—after all we've been through, it's barely enough.”

He smirks, and she gives him a light slap on his bicep, but he catches her against him, wrapping her in his arms.

“It's customary on the night of handfasting to use this bed—this room.”

Julia scans the large room, formerly Marcusʼs, and heaves a sigh. His bed was replaced by a carved one made of wood. Clearly medieval and gothic, it stands out in a room many years newer.

“Lots of mixed architecture here,” Julia comments.

Scott presses a soft kiss to her lips. “I am not here to discuss furniture.”

Julia smiles, holding her face away. “I
know
that.”

Scott motions toward the en suite bathroom, where he just turned off the hot water tap. Julia can't see inside, but she moves toward the doorway, peeking inside.

“Oh!” she says more loudly than she intended. “It's beautiful.”

She turns to Scott, and he is smugly pleased. “Did
you
plan all this?”

Scott lifts a shoulder. “I'd love to take credit, but the Singers who take care of the royal line had this arranged after Father's death.”

Scott looks down, running a finger along the edge of a tub so huge it could easily fit two.

The thought makes Julia blush. Though they've already crossed that bridge, she finds room for shyness.

“You miss him,” she states.

He nods. “This isn't about Father, though.” Scott holds out his hand, and she slides hers inside.

Their connection tightens like a gasp of air, winding them tightly together.

“I never get tired of the way that feels,” he says, a little out of breath.

Me, either.

He smiles at her telepathic comment.

His finger dips in the water. He saunters closer, reaching behind her hair and unhooking the top latch of her dress. He slowly unzips it to the small of her back, and Julia steps out of the circle of creamy material.

Scott's eyes catch on her breasts. There was no room for a bra in the tight bodice. She sees in his face that he approves.

Julia moves to the edge of the tub, giving him a look of invitation.

Scott follows.

*

Scott

Scott stands before her, naked, wrapping a towel around her body and blotting the streaming water from her heated, fragrant flesh.

Julia admires the muscles as they dance with his deliberate movements. Each stroke and caress of the towel has her closer to wanting him.

She's wound so tightly with desire, standing is an effort.

Julia places her hands on his shoulders, and he looks up, his eyes level with her sex.

Heat rises to the surface of her skin from the look he gives her.

Scott leans forward, his tongue licking a lone drop, and Julia hisses in a breath, tipping her head back and clutching his shoulders.

“Scott,” she breathes.

“Yes.” He moves his tongue a little lower, delving between her slit.

Julia cries out softly.

Her chin lowers, her eyes meeting his.

“More?” he asks, his breath hot against the most tender part of her.

Julia doesn't speak, nodding.

Strong hands grasp her hips and open her to him.

Julia's legs tremble as his tongue moves deeper, digging between her folds.

She moistens at his touch, at the residual emotional sensations they share through the meld.

When her knees weaken, he pulls away, holding her so she won't fall, and swoops her easily into his arms. His erection rests between them.

Somehow, he finds his way to the bed, hair still damp from their bath of mutual exploration. A drop of water trails like melted ice from his hairline and falls between her breasts.

Julia shivers.

Scott lowers her to the bed and spreads her legs with his palms, visually feasting on her nakedness.

When Julia moves to close her thighs, he pins them open with his large hands. “Don't. You're beautiful—and finally mine. Let me take you in.”

And like a sponge soaked in love and lust, Julia relaxes her knees.

Scott bends over her, lapping the drop of water that lingers between her breasts and then presses them together, first laving one nipple and the next. He goes back and forth, always allowing his breath to warm her in a path of fire that ends in the wet torture of her nipples.

They harden inside his mouth, and Julia makes a small aching sound, arching her back. He captures her against him, plunging a finger deep inside as he gives an insistent pull with the smallest bit of teeth at her nipple.