“Marco has many talents,” Darius said. “It pleases them to help you. Thank you for allowing that.”

  “You all seem so endlessly competent at everything. Mechanical things, construction. Pip took Lorraine out to wild forage some ingredients. She said he knew many good places and was a good guide who did not sass.”

  His startled laugh captured every bit of her attention. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek briefly. “Does she bring her wooden spoon with her when she leaves the house?”

  He was playing with her. It sent pleasure and happiness reeling through her system.

  “No. But she has a walking stick. Longer reach and it’s pointed slightly at the tip. The spoon is easier to evade.”

  “I like her more and more every new thing I learn about her.” He dropped his hand. “Pip requested to be on duty to guard her. She’s scary, but also maternal in a way we’ve not had for a very long time.”

  The moon wasn’t quite full but nearly so and it bathed the circle she’d created and then warded in silver. Genevieve stepped in and the power parted around her, sliding against her skin in welcome as she did.

  “My circle would recognize your magic. If you wish,” she said. They didn’t talk very much about his magic. It was clearly there and in rough proportion to hers. It was wildly different, but practitioners were individuals so their power signatures and the way they practiced varied as well. She hadn’t seen him perform anything major yet though there was evidence in the way he showed up nearly immediately when she called his name into the air.

  Much like the story about his family, Genevieve knew it would take Darius time to reveal the most intimate parts of himself to her. She would do the same. She’d been used to keeping her own counsel for so long and suddenly there’d been Rowan and it had been natural to open up to her friend. And now Darius. He was something entirely different. Sharing with him, giving him bits of herself, made her vulnerable. She took a leap every time she did it. And every time he smiled or laughed or asked her to take him to pancakes was him doing the same. Pulling them closer and closer.

  “I don’t know how your magical practice works,” she went on when he remained standing a few feet away. “You don’t have to perform a working here. Or you can on your own, if you prefer, whenever you like. I thought that since I’m your priestess it might be helpful. Or something like that.”

  He remained standing outside her circle, and she let it go because it wasn’t about her. It was about individual practice.

  “I’m grateful you created this. The others will be as well,” he said quietly.

  “I just need to finish this spell,” she told him. “I’ve had these tinctures here in the circle under the sky. They’ve been curing for the last day.” She bent to retrieve one of the tall clear bottles holding different colored liquids and held it up, looking at the moon through it. She repeated the steps with the other bottles until they were all finished.

  She placed them around the circle at the innermost edge. Then she opened herself up and let the power free. Unleashed it like she’d thrown off a cloak. Genevieve knew from long experience that patience at this step was necessary. There was so much magic inside her that if she didn’t let it all run free like a bunch of kittens when she first opened herself up, all she did was fight against herself to get it under control.

  And it was more time to fight herself. Dulled her results.

  After two or three minutes, she drew in a deep breath and let it free on a count of five, reversed and drew another in on the same slow five count. All her facets, as Darius called them, lined up and cooperated, eager to help. The words to the song she sang were in a language no one but witches had spoken for at least four hundred years or so. An opening of the way. Then she added claps and hand movements to go with the slow, shuffling steps she took in a meandering pattern within the circle.

  Wisps of energy floated around her and then knitted together, slowly drifting down, covering the bottles. The spells she worked would bind the ingredients in the bottles with the magic. Amplifying their effects.

  Genevieve was the conduit. Not just for the magic to imbue the tinctures with the final bindings, but for that energy to flow into the Trick as a whole. All over their ground, Devils would have felt a rush of her working. It would nourish them in the same way their rides down the Strip did.

  Better. Because the magic she performed was life magic. Healing magic. The greenest of her talent, and that would be cleaner and more direct than their normal diet of jilted boyfriends and gamblers on highs or lows. This was filtered energy, similar to the way water filters pulled away impurities.

  Invigorated and energized, Genevieve clapped three times and the spell ignited fully, seeping into the tinctures and leaving behind nothing but a slight misting of power.

  That done, she broke the circle and tasted salt on the air. Another new aspect to her magical power was that she’d discovered—via the Dust Devils—she was a salt witch. Veins of it ran through the land, eagerly rushing to her call, pleased to weave itself into her workings.

  Just a few feet away, Darius remained where he’d been before, but his eyes had gone impossibly darker.

  “You’re delicious,” he said, words rough as if he’d been sleeping. “Devils for miles and miles have just been showered with so much energy and power they’ll probably start a shrine to you.” He reached above his head and clasped his hands, stretching.

  Genevieve wanted to kiss whoever had installed the lights that had been strung through the trees and bushes because it enabled her to catch that slice of bare belly when the hem of his T-shirt rode up.

  He helped her with the bottles, and she took him into the stillroom where they were stored.

  Once back in her bedroom—and she did so like the sight of him there—he said, “I have not seen the like of such a space in many years. A prior priestess—not here, a Trick I was in while in Lebanon—had a stillroom I remember smelling far worse than this.”

  “The nice part of having that working space outside is I can perform the smelliest spells out there. I’ll try to give everyone a warning to stay upwind during those times.”

  He took two steps and her back bumped against the door to the adjoining bathroom. Her hands ended up on his very warm, very firm chest. Not to stop him. Her fingers curled into his muscles, the heat of him bringing a gasp to her lips.

  “You make me laugh,” he told her, smiling briefly and frankly, she wasn’t sure what else he could have said that would have thrilled her the same way. It was rather delightful the way he’d begun to show a lighter-hearted side of himself to her.

  “Laughter is important,” she said, aiming at being teasing, but the truth of that statement cut through the haze of desire enough that she knew she wanted more.

  He bent and when they were so close she only needed take a deep breath to touch him, he said, “I’ve been thinking about your taste since I kissed you yesterday.”

  Then he was kissing her again. His mouth on hers, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as she clung to his chest and back. She fit against him shockingly well. Like she was made for it.

  Shoving that thought aside, she let herself sink into the moment. His tongue slid against hers and she squeezed her inner thighs against the near painful need.

  His taste was rich with power and sex. It gamboled through her, setting off little earthquakes of sensation, especially after he tightened his embrace and only clothes separated them.

  When his mouth lifted, she noted somewhere in the back of her mind the disappointed and grumpy sound she gave and when she opened her eyes it was to catch the sight of a wicked grin full of intent.

  Then those endless midnight eyes slid halfway shut and that teasing light turned low into barely banked heat.

  “Don’t fret. I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured and lowered his mouth to her throat, his lips leaving a heated path in their wake. He slid his palms down her arms, capturing her wrists a breathless moment.

  When he freed her, it was to cradle her neck, kissing and stroking his fingers afterward. Each sweep of his touch seemed to ripple outward.

  A phantom breeze, stirred by their combined power, sent the flames from the candles dancing, making shadows against her closed eyelids.

  He swept an arm around her waist and hauled her close once more, his face buried in her hair. Heart beating wildly, desire liquid in her veins, she dragged in a breath that was full of him.

  Neither moved for a minute or two and then she was back against the door and his hands were at the buttons of her pajama top and there was a question in his gaze. Did she want to go further?

  She put her hands over his and guided them to pop that first button. He kissed across the line of her collarbone and then down over the exposed skin at the center of her chest. Then her hands helped him with the second and last button and the fabric had parted, exposing her breasts to his view.

  Again he captured her wrists but this time he pulled her arms up above her head and pushed slightly. Don’t move. As if she wanted to!

  He murmured words too soft to hear clearly, but she understood them, nonetheless.

  Fingertips traced up her ribs and then circled her breastbone and down until he took her breasts in his hands, twisting his wrist so he could pinch her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

  She bowed her back, arching into his touch, and then his mouth replaced his fingers, sending licks of flame straight to her clit.

  His hands slid down to her hips and caught the waist of her pants, pulling them down as he dropped to his knees in front of her, pressing his cheek to her through her panties.

  Genevieve nearly trembled, nearly panted with anticipation as he turned his face and breathed warm air over her pussy.

  “I want you. I want this,” he said as he flicked his gaze up to hers. “Do you want this?”

  “Yes,” she told him without hesitation.

  In one easy movement, he stripped her of her underpants and arranged her so her thigh rested on his shoulder. Genevieve had to rest most of her weight against the door and even then she nearly fell over when he spread her open. “Pretty,” he said and took a long lick.

  She didn’t even recognize the sound she made as her own at first. It took a few moments for the sound and sensation to connect and then boom, he did something with his tongue that hauled her right to the edge of climax.

  Then he did it over and over and over again until she came in what felt like an endless rush that knocked her world sideways.

  * * *

  His hands nearly shook.

  Darius fisted them to steady himself as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.

  He hadn’t been prepared for things to be so intense.

  It felt as if a crack had developed in the shell that had naturally hardened around his heart. The taste of her on his lips, her scent on his hands seemed to rain down on him, dissolving his reserve until he was standing, cradling her face.

  He needed to go. Needed to create some space between them so he could get hold of himself once more, but then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he never wanted to move again.

  “You’re by far the best neighbor I’ve ever had,” she murmured. “Since I’m unsure if my legs are working, I’ll need your assistance to get to my bed and into me.”

  And how could he resist such an invitation? Especially because he’d imagined her asking him to fuck her more than once but probably less than a hundred thousand times.

  One arm banded about her waist, he picked her up, swung them toward the bed and though he’d planned to lay her on it gently, she kept her grip on him and pulled him to the mattress with her.

  It had been an epoch since he’d laughed in bed with a partner and though it had been gone from his life for so long he’d forgotten how wonderful it felt, now that he had it again, he grabbed it with both hands.

  “Why are all your clothes on?” she asked lazily.

  “Why indeed?” he asked as he managed to get free of his shirt, pants, and shorts. The shoes he’d left at home anyway.

  It was the way she looked at him, her gaze sliding over him from his feet to the top of his head, that had him back on the bed, kneeling over her body.

  “What a gift you are,” she murmured, running her hands over his upper body before she grabbed two handsful of his ass to pull him closer. “So beautiful.”

  “I was thinking the same of you,” he said, kissing her again. Because he could. Because she wanted him to.

  He rolled to his back, bringing her with him. Her hair, unbound, curtained around her face as she looked down at him.

  She raked her nails down his chest and over his belly, halting and reversing course until all he could feel was that sensation, sharp and soft, sensual and provocative all at once.

  Her weight on him was perfect. The softness of her, that smooth skin stretched over fire and power the likes of which he rarely saw much less wanted to possess more than he cared to examine deeply.

  Her lips against his neck felt so good he arched, needing to be closer. Wanting more. The constant since he’d watched her walk into their bar a handful of months before. The flashes he had considered fantasy weren’t.

  He slid his palms up her thighs, over her hips and ribs. In a quick set of moves she’d removed the pajama shirt and rose, grabbing his cock in her fist and slowly pulling it up and off and down again. Semen beaded at the tip, and she ran her thumb through it before bringing it to her lips to lick, her gaze locked on his.

  The naked sensuality in that act sent a shock through him. That she would be a graceful, sexual being wasn’t a surprise. That she sought it openly and with relish was deeply satisfying. He, too, could be who he was with her on this level.

  Words came but he held them. That hazy pleasure in her gaze sharpened.

  She paid attention. Another irresistible quality.

  A question in her gaze along with passion and knowledge. Solidarity, he supposed, in this deep wanting between them.

  “Ride me,” he managed to say instead of begging.

  Her concern was gone, replaced with more want. Reflecting his.

  He reached down and held the root of his dick as she rose up. All the rest faded as all he could do was snarl at the sensation of her tight, wet pussy surrounding his cock. Pleasure shot up his spine, so sharp it sliced, right on that edge of too much and never enough.

  Flames danced as this queen—his queen—moved over him while he nearly lost his mind at the intensity of connection and sensation between them. He gripped her hips as her muscles played against his palms.

  A quick shift of his weight and he’d flipped them. Yes. Having her spread out below him, her hair like a corona around her head as she looked up into his face, incited him further as he deepened his thrusts.

  He had to get to his knees, desperate to be deeper, and then she added a swivel of her hips and he was lost.

  Her hips had been tipped up and Darius grabbed her then with one hand, stilling her at that angle. Served up just how he wanted.

  “Perfect,” he said and then as he continued to thrust, he pressed the pad of his thumb over her clit, keeping that pressure as he circled.

  Her pussy superheated and went molten as she tightened around him. Enough to drag him over that edge with her.

  He’d always known he could see the future. But he’d never seen her coming and wasn’t that fascinating?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fleur was full of pleasant memories for Rowan that stretched back to the early—and admittedly turbulent—days of her relationship with Clive. Back then she’d delighted at scaring them all, but in the years since they’d become part of her family. Even the grumpiest of servers and the temperamental chef.

  She shook that free. She was there for all of them. And the others she’d gathered along the way. There at Genevieve’s side for this meeting to be sure these magic fuckheads didn’t try to mess with anyone.

  At the two-story glass entry, the house manager waited. He didn’t smile when he recognized Rowan, but his gaze warmed. He bowed to her and then nodded at the others.

  “It’s good to see you, Ms. Summerwaite,” he said. “I’ve set the small private dining room for this meeting. Coffee, water, tea, juice will be brought out when you’re ready. You said no food, but the chef has prepared some little bites for you, should you change your mind.”

  “We don’t want them to get comfortable enough to stay,” Rowan admitted before she indicated Genevieve. “This is Genevieve Aubert. She’ll be heading this meeting. Genevieve, this is Gioberto.”

  Genevieve fluttered her lashes and said complimentary things in that way of hers. Had Gioberto stammering and blushing within moments.

  David had shown up at Fleur via their underground service corridor so even if the Procellas were watching the front and side door to see who was coming and going, they wouldn’t see him. And of course they were surveilling the place, they’d be fools not to. At least three Devils had been stationed around the area as well.

  “They’ll be here soon so let’s get ourselves seated,” Rowan told Genevieve. She liked to have first pick of such things. “On the way, let me show you where David is.”

  Gioberto led them through the open dining room. The Portnoy Glass chandeliers suspended over the tables sent slices of red over the furniture and floors as the light caught the glass just right. Through the double doors and into the kitchen where staff was already prepping for that night’s service. The fresh green scent of herbs hung in the air with the sound of slicing, grating, chopping, and cook banter, which Rowan sometimes got mixed up and thought it was a fight, but it was really just semi-affectionate teasing. They headed up a flight of stairs and took a turn down a narrow hallway used to ferry the food back and forth quietly and efficiently into the banquet-type rooms beyond.