Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds)

Dylan’s Witch

Jory Strong

Supernatural Bonds, Book Ten

One by one his coworkers have found love, but homicide detective Dylan Archer has no plans to retire his bachelor status. A past transgression has proven he’s not the commitment type. Yet even his job, and his current case tracking a potential serial killer, can’t take his mind off Seraphine. He burns for the beautiful witch, and when the case takes him to her door, long-denied emotions erupt in a conflagration of lust.

She’s his heartmate, whether he believes it or not. But to claim the future she represents, Dylan needs to confront his past. Quickly. Time is running out. He’s not the only one who wants Seraphine—the sultry witch is now in the killer’s sights.

Inside Scoop:
Witches, shifters, fae and even an ex-demon comingle in a case that takes the efforts of many. That’s a lot of supernaturals…which leads to lots of supernatural sex, including a small bit of male/male.

A Romantica®
paranormal erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Dylan’s Witch

Jory Strong

Prologue

Helene seethed as she waited for guards to bring her client in. Years of careful cultivation and planning down the drain like wasted sacrificial blood. Why? Because of arrogance. Because of a sense of entitlement bred into those who’d been born to wealth and power, who’d never known what it was like to rise against the odds, to excel based on intelligence and hard work and the mastery of craft. Not just the skills to achieve prominence in the crowded field of criminal defense but to reach levels of magical power few would have the courage to attempt for their fear of demons.

Lucifer’s Blade had finally been within her grasp! Finally! But the idiot senator, barely an acolyte to his wife, had thought himself knowledgeable enough to wield it. And now…

Her hands clenched as she rode out a burst of fury. Her lips tightened and her lungs froze until a returned awareness of her surroundings forced her fists open.

She smoothed her palms against the rich fabric of her slacks. The blade would be recovered. Not without an additional investment of effort, but this time her pet wouldn’t fail her.

Camille would make it up to her, ultimately pleasing her as thoroughly outside the bedroom as she did in. Not that she blamed Camille for fleeing without the athame when that fool, Senator James K. Harper, came face-to-face with the demon lord Gressil—followed an instant later by the lesser demon who killed the idiot in retribution for an earlier summoning and binding.

She found a smile then, imagining the senator with his intestines wrapped around his neck. Oh, to have been able to see it!

He got what he deserved. And soon she would possess the blade, taking great satisfaction in having the late senator’s wife—a pretender in her own right—bear the financial cost.

Helene pressed anger and irritation inward, smoothing it over with a professional’s mask as the door opened and Nicole Harper was ushered into the room by a guard. Thankfully Nicole wasn’t the type of client to expect warm fuzzies.

Jail had muted some of Nicole’s cool arrogance. It had stripped away shine and sophistication. And though it was petty, Helene found herself pleased by the sight.

Nicole had confessed to a range of charges, including arranging for the death of Anita Vorhaus, the late senator’s aide; taking part in the death of Miles Terry, who’d stolen Lucifer’s Blade from the VanDenbergh collection on the day VanDenbergh Senior was murdered; as well as for arranging to have Aislinn Dilessio, the wife of the homicide detective assigned to the Vorhaus case, killed, though the attempt had failed.

The damage wrought by pleading guilty had already been done. Helene had arrived at the police station as quickly as she could after Camille had contacted her, but not soon enough. If so much wasn’t at stake, she would have enjoyed Nicole breaking and contacting her, begging for help, but she didn’t have the luxury of waiting for something that might never occur.

Nicole sat, hands in her lap, spine ramrod straight. “What do you want?”

Helene refused to let fury get the better of her, at the tone as much as the question. “Why did you confess?” Though she knew why, thanks to Camille. The idiot in front of her had been terrified by the mention of Gressil, the high demon lord who first answered when Lucifer’s Blade was used.

“I had no choice.”

“Ridiculous.” She didn’t bother to hold the sentiment back, banking on it goading her client into opening up.

Nicole’s lips tightened. Familiar arrogance settled on her features. But the ploy worked. “What the papers say is true, the senator was a practitioner of the dark arts. So am I.”

Helene allowed a moment to pass, as if she needed to ingest such a shocking fact. Then she shrugged, as any defense attorney worth their client’s money would. “Are you telling me there is evidence, either solid or circumstantial, that provides enough proof for a jury to convict you?”

The familiar, much-detested look of superiority returned to Nicole’s eyes. “You can’t possibly understand.”

Helene promised herself she’d let the howl of laughter welling up inside her escape once she was safely in her car. “Make me understand, Nicole. It’s possible I’ll see a solution that has escaped you.”

Nicole glanced down at her hands, perhaps seeing the gloss of an expensive manicure that would soon fade into a memory with the reality of incarceration. Moments passed. Amusement faded to irritation but Helene consoled herself. The ultimate victory of possessing Lucifer’s Blade, and using it to summon and bind an army of demon lords who could be used to broker power and change the course of history, would soon be hers.

Nicole’s eyes lifted from glossy fingertips and hands that had never done a day’s work. “Do you believe it’s possible to harness magic? To wield it, including compelling demons to do your bidding?”

Helene pursed her lips as though giving the question serious consideration, allowing enough time to pass so Nicole wouldn’t doubt her when she finally said, “I have no personal experience to validate the belief, but I have been in regions where voodoo is practiced. I have served clients who were steeped in it, so yes, I believe such things are possible.”

Some of the stiffness left Nicole’s spine. She took a small telltale breath, as if she now desperately grasped the hope of escaping the folly of her choices.

“Dylan Archer, one of the homicide cops, carried a charm alerting him to the presence of demons. I saw it when he pulled his notepad out, before they found the outer circle. They knew what they were looking for or they would never have found the sigils painted on the walls in salt water.”

Helene’s skin chilled. Fear slid through her, not some nebulous threat presented by the cop’s knowledge, but that another might beat her to a long sought-after prize. If not for Camille having been carefully planted as Nicole’s aide, and her pet’s seduction of the senator, she wouldn’t now know Lucifer’s Blade had been in their possession. But Camille hadn’t known about the charm, which could only have been created by a powerful witch.

She forced herself to respond as if her heart wasn’t thundering and her mind racing as to how to identify and eliminate this potential threat. “You’re talking about Anita Vorhaus’ death, not the Senator’s?”

“Yes.
I
summoned and bound a demon. It was contained in double circles and given specific orders on how to kill, and who. There was time to get most of the salt off the carpet before the police arrived, after our neighbor discovered and reported the murder, but it seemed extremely unlikely they would discover the sigils on the wall.”

Helene bit back a scathing retort. Lazy idiots. They’d probably thought to use the outer circle again and didn’t want to be troubled by recreating it.

“The manner of Anita Vorhaus’ death drew unnecessary attention.”

A shrug. “It was James’ idea.”

To collect insurance money they had no need of? Or had they merely craved the additional attention, thinking themselves too smart to be caught?

Helene continued the farce, as if she didn’t understand the acute fear that led to Nicole’s willingness to spend a lifetime in prison after living a privileged one. “There’s more?”

The tiniest shiver acknowledged it. Nicole licked her lips. “We came into possession of a powerful athame.”

“Lucifer’s Blade? The one in the news?”

“Yes. It’s used to summon only the highest of demon lords. When the police found the sacrificial chamber hidden behind the bookcase in James’ office, the athame was on the altar. Dylan Archer’s partner, Trace Dilessio, knew the name of the demon lord who would answer first when the blade was used. I
did
arrange to have his wife killed. It was only luck that saved her. When Detective Dilessio evoked Grissel’s name, it was clear to me I could either plead guilty and accept human justice, or risk having demons summoned, including the one who killed James.”

A harder shudder went through Nicole. The moments that passed after the revelation weren’t completely a pretense of needing to process what Nicole had said.

Helene’s mind raced. There was a small measure of comfort in having already set her plan to recover Lucifer’s Blade in motion.

It was now clear the two homicide detectives, Dylan Archer and Trace Dilessio, had access to a witch with an interest in demons and the dark realms, one unafraid of blood magic. Though it was highly unlikely the charms the policemen possessed had the power to save them from a demon lord.

She would monitor the situation for now. And if necessary, they could be eliminated as easily as the witch could, by human or inhuman means.

She’d gotten what she’d come for at least. Nicole was no longer relevant, except for the pleasure of separating her from some of her money. Now to lead her down the path of her own demise.

Helene took a deep breath, as if signaling she’d worked through the issues and come up with an idea.

“You confessed to attempted murder of the detective’s wife. I assume that occurred when you realized he knew something of the magic you practice. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t afraid until he and his partner found Lucifer’s Blade?”

“No.”

“Then the solution seems obvious. What if Lucifer’s Blade were to disappear from police evidence? It seems to me that without the knife, there is no threat of the demons you’re afraid of being summoned, correct?”

“Yes. But—”

“Once the blade has been secured, I’ll enter a motion to have your confession vacated. I’ll argue you were overwhelmed in your grief. Were you sedated?”

“I had been earlier.”

“Then I’ll also argue that along with being sedated and suffering the shock of learning, and yet clinging to denial, that James dabbled in black magic, you thought to sacrifice yourself to keep all stain from the senator’s legacy.

Helene saw the instant Nicole
believed
she might be able to escape the idiocy of her own actions. “When?”

“We’ll wait for media interest to die down. In the meantime, I’ll find a weakness, a way to get the blade from police custody. I’ll need access to funds, preferably an untraceable, offshore account. It may require a large bribe to recover Lucifer’s Blade.”

Helene laughed silently, quite sure Camille would be able to accomplish the task using only her body. Her little blonde pet could be very persuasive. It had taken less than a day to identify a vulnerable target, a man who would soon place his lover’s demands above the dictates of his conscience.

Nicole reached for the tablet and pen placed on the table for just this purpose. “I’ll give you an account number and the password. There’s five hundred thousand in it, for emergencies like this one.”

Chapter One

Blood dripped onto the sigil in the center of the circle.

Seraphine didn’t chant. She didn’t speak the demon lord’s name. Neither was necessary to summon him.

The only sacrifice required was the token offering of blood. It was gift and catalyst alike, funneling the powerful magic she possessed into the spell necessary to create a sliver-crack between his realm and this one.

Arioc stepped into existence, close enough his body heat touched her face and his scent filled her nostrils, heady temptation meant to draw her near. The subtlest tilt forward in her crouched position and she could nuzzle his cock through the flowing silk of pants that made him appear exotic, like a powerful desert sheik plucked from her fantasies and dedicated to sensual pleasures.

Muscles and skin gleamed in muted candlelight. He was shirtless, aristocratic human features made more erotic by long silver-blond hair and sky-blue eyes accented with dark lashes and brows.

She doubted this was his true form. Regardless, he was as beautiful as he was deadly.