Chapter 3

3

A fter a great force shoved Malcolm into the aether, he opened his eyes to see that he stood in his library, the soaring walls of books as familiar as his own face. Heart pounding, his gaze flicked around the room, searching for Sofia.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Did the High Witches still have her? Fear sent an icy chill across his skin.

But no, the High Witch had gestured to both of them when she'd sent them home.

He aetherwalked immediately to Bruxa's Eye. His heart pounded as he looked up and down the quiet, moonlit street. The buildings were ramshackle—like a Wild West town in the middle of a jungle—and the boardwalk under his feet kept him out of the muddy street.

The roar of a crowd sounded at the end of a street, but he caught a slight hint of her distinct, floral scent coming from the other direction. He headed away from the crowd and saw her seconds later, standing at the end of the street .

As he approached, she drew her wand and transformed herself into an old Crone, a black cloak draping her shoulders. Kitty was black as pitch against the fabric.

"Don't bother trying to hide," he said.

"I'm not hiding from you, idiot." She nodded to the street behind him. "There are people coming."

He spun around to see two men approaching. Their gait was unsteady and they were arguing good-naturedly. Drunk. A shifter and a vampire, from the look of them. He'd been so distracted by his need to find her that he hadn't even heard them coming.

Disgraceful.

They stopped abruptly a dozen feet from Sofia. The shifter's green eyes widened and he bowed low. " Honored one ." A sign of respect.

The vampire bowed low as well and they made their way past.

Of course. He'd forgotten, because he'd never seen her in her Crone form.

Like many witches, Bruxas believed in the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. The Crone was the most powerful. The Protectors of Bruxa's Eye always appeared as the Crone when in public.

"Don't you hate hiding yourself like this?" he asked.

"Of course. It's tiring and I can't have a normal life." Her voice was bitter. "But it's tradition. The threat to our village is real, and I'm the first line of defense. People expect this. I'm strongest in this form. As the Protector, it's my duty to present my strongest front."

The words sounded memorized. She'd inherited this role from her mother. No doubt it'd been drilled into her. But he too knew something about the dictates of family expectations. They'd been half the reason he'd given her up.

He'd never known anyone like Sofia. She was the loveliest woman he'd ever met—small and curvy with golden skin. He hated that she covered that up. But she was fierce, and she was committed to protecting her village. Was willing to do anything to save it. He'd have to use that to his advantage.

He grasped her arm and aetherwalked them back to his library. He used his magic to remove her enchantment so that she looked like herself again and wore her normal clothing.

She jerked out of his grasp.

She glanced down at herself and scowled. "Bastard."

Kitty hissed. Her fat little familiar glared at him out of its one good eye. The other was squinty, just as he remembered it. He'd always liked Kitty and Kitty had liked him. Until he'd chosen becoming a warlock over a life with Sofia.

As he'd expected seeing her in his home warmed a cold part of his soul. This room was better with her in it. Brighter, somehow. The firelight from his ever-burning hearth gleamed off her dark hair. He'd always loved her hair—the way it hung in shining curls down her back. He'd always loved everything about her.

"Why the hell did you bring me back here?"

"I want you here." What he'd done was fucked up—he knew it was—but he'd wanted to see her again. He was sick of being alone and trying to forget her. Seeing his brother with his new mate had revived memories of Sofia. Had revived his unslakable desire for her. "I wanted you to come to me. So I took what you needed."

"You manipulative ass!" Rage flared hot in Sofia's belly as she watched Malcolm shrug carelessly.

"It worked," he said. His gaze burned with something unidentifiable.

"Why are you screwing with my life like this? Am I just a pawn to you? Haven't you done enough to me?" She felt like she'd explode with all the conflicting thoughts and feelings ricocheting through her.

He strode toward her, all power and grace, and trapped her against the bookshelf. His arms braced against the shelves behind her as he leaned over her. She felt caged by his sudden nearness. Though he didn't touch her, his heat burned. His thick biceps framed her face and his head dipped over hers. Golden eyes blazed.

"Because I want you." His voice was rougher than she'd ever heard it. "I've wanted you for centuries and I'm sick of denying it."

The words sent a streak of heat through her. Desire pushed through her, furious, hot and insistent. Her skin heated and her sex ached. It happened so fast her head spun. She was an idiot and he was a heavy-handed bastard, but she wanted him. "You're a bastard. And a warlock."

"Doesn't mean I don't want you."

"I gave up being a warlock to be with you. And you threw me away. Do you have any idea how much it hurt to make a sacrifice for our love, but then you didn't do the same thing? Or how much it hurt to realize how little you valued our love?" Just the thought made her chest ache. "No. Of course not. Because you've never even considered sacrificing what you want. How do you think I'd ever be with you again?"

"I'll make it up to you."

Rage flared in her chest, burning out some of the pain. "Even if you did, you can't have anything real. Your curse will destroy it."

He lowered his head to her ear. His voice and warm breath made her shiver despite her ire. "I'm good at getting around the curse."

"Not possible. You remember Laira."

That wouldn't be her. Fate was too cruel and too strong.

"That won't be a problem. Love killed Laira," he said.

She flinched. She knew he didn't love her, but it hurt to hear it so bluntly. "So that means you just want to fuck me and then go on your way? Because that's the only thing fate won't destroy."

"I absolutely want to fuck you."

"No." She forced the word out. "You broke my heart. You got me into this situation."

"I wasn't expecting the High Witches to be so pissed off. It was only a few hours late."

"Fat lot of good that does me, now that I'm on their bad side."

"Can you blame me for trying?" The words were rough at her ear. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I'm tired of waiting. Any man in my position would have done the same to have one such as you."

"After everything you've done, what makes you think I would ever sleep with you? "

"Because you want to. I know you do. And I've spent centuries dreaming of the things I'd do to you. Planning out every touch. Kiss. Lick. I'd make you shiver and shake and lose your mind."

Fates help her, his words were too appealing. Despite everything he'd done to her, a big part of her did still want him. She couldn't hide that from herself and she couldn't hide it from him either.

But he was behaving like an utter bastard now—putting her in this position for his own gain. And even if she totally lost her mind and fell for him, this could only end in massive heartbreak—or worse, death.

It was crazy and stupid and probably due to the fact that she hadn't gotten laid in about a decade. If the Crone didn't scare the men off, the fact that they thought of her as some sort of holy figure did. Though the worst of the pain of their breakup was gone, she still hated him.

She pushed at his chest, hard enough that he shifted back and gave her enough space to sneak away.

"I'm done with you. I'll fix this myself," she said as she made her way to the door. She had a week. She could do this.

Right?

No. Not really. She was fucked.

"I'll consider helping you. You need my help."

Sofia stopped in her tracks, turned and glowered at him. He was right, damn it. She did need his help. She was stuck. Because of him.

Was this all part of his plan? She shivered. She felt like a fly trapped in his web.

He approached her, reminding her of a panther stalking its prey. She backed up, but the desk stopped her. The big chair nudged her hip. It suddenly became very apparent how in over her head she was .

He'd orchestrated all of this. Maybe not the task in Salem—but stealing the dagger, getting her here, and inciting the wrath of the High Witches. "You're a heavy-handed bastard, you know that?"

He shrugged and she caught a whiff of his scent. That same enticing spice. And he was close enough now that she could feel his heat. She hated it, but her mind kept jumping back to the past. To all the good times they'd had. Practicing magic, watching the sunrise, talking late at night while studying the stars. How much she'd loved his kisses. His touch.

He'd hurt her—but before that, there'd been so much good.

Standing so near him right now only reminded her of the fact. He might be a colder, darker version of his old self—no doubt twisted by the loneliness enforced upon warlocks—but he still made her burn.

There was no amount of anger in the world that could stop her from wanting him. And the hurt had faded just enough that her desire could take over. She clenched a fist to keep from reaching out to touch his broad chest and forced her mind back to the task. "So, how are you going to help me?"

"I didn't say I'd help you. Just that I'd consider it."

Oh, the arrogance. Hot rage flared in her chest. She wanted to hit him.

"But first, I want my payment."

"Wh-what?"

"You." His golden eyes blazed with heat. Part of him might be cold, but there was another part of him that wasn't. His wolf's soul, perhaps. Whatever it was, it burned. His gaze seemed to glow, his body vibrating with tension. He didn't reach out to touch her, but she could tell he wanted to.

She'd never been wanted like this before. So much so that she could see it. In the heat of his eyes, the way his breath came harder, and his shoulders tensed. "What do you mean, me?"

It was a stupid question, but she needed time to get her wits together. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kitty leave the room. Whenever there was the possibility of her Bruxa having sex, Kitty left. If Sofia needed her, she'd feel it and return.

"You know what I mean." His voice rumbled as he reached up and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her to him until her body pressed against his.

Yes. Desire flared hard, impossible to ignore.

His heat and hardness seared her, his erection a brand that ignited fires so intense she hadn't felt them in nearly four hundred years. Since him. They'd never gone past kissing, but he clearly meant to remedy that.

Malcolm loomed over her, his body blocking out the firelight. She shivered. His golden gaze captured hers as he lowered his head. She strained up to meet him, quivering against his strength. Her lips hovered close to his, sending sparks of anticipation down her spine.

His big hand pressed against the small of her back. The sense of being captured overwhelmed her, snapping her back to her senses.

He'd trapped her.

She shoved against his chest, breaking free. The desk pressed against her ass, ensnaring her, but she'd pushed him back a couple feet and gained some breathing room. "No way in hell. "

"I've been in hell. There's a way."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"Why not? It'd be good. I always thought you'd be a good lay."

"A good lay?" Fury boiled in her chest. No matter how much she might want him, she couldn't ignore that. "You'd better believe it, but you're sure as hell not going to find out."

"Without my help, you won't save your village. The High Witches and the Salem Coven are too strong."

"I have friends who can help me."

He shrugged and she wanted to hit him. He inspired her to violence as much as he inspired her to lust.

"You have friends," he said. "But none powerful enough. You have the strongest magic in your village. They need you to protect them, not to drag them off to fight a war."

Her heart threatened to fall to her feet. He was right. Bruxa's Eye was full of powerful Mytheans. As a group, they were immensely powerful. But she couldn't ask them to wage war on the Salem Coven—and that's what it would take, if she only had their help. Their strength was in their numbers.

No, she needed a single person, at most two—someone whose magic rivaled hers—to help her sneak in and steal the Salem Coven's Grimoire. Stealth and strong magic were the only way to win this.

Malcolm was the only way to win this. The High Witches had seen to it. He had seen to it.

Rage dampened the desire he'd stoked, though she hated herself because she couldn't get rid of it fully. Even though she knew it was a bad idea—she could write a novel about all the things that could go wrong between them—it was impossible to keep herself from wanting him.

He looked as if he'd been made for her. She couldn't keep her eyes from tracing over the powerful expanse of his shoulders and down his arms to where his thin sweater was pushed up to his elbows. His forearms were corded with muscles, his fists clenched as if to stop himself from grabbing her. Her gaze darted back to his face.

He looked at her as if she were a feast and he a starving man. Like she was the first light he'd seen after a lifetime of darkness. The slightest flush rode on his sharp cheekbones and his golden eyes gleamed with heat.

He wanted it all. No question. And there was no way in hell she would give it to him. Even if she wanted it herself.

"A kiss," she said. Because she couldn't help herself.

"That's hardly worth risking my life for." But his gaze strayed hungrily to her lips.

"With me, it is. Take it or leave it, because a kiss is all you're getting."

"For now," he growled, then pulled her close, his hand pressed hard against her back and the other cupping her neck. His lips barely touched hers, feathering lightly.

Her heart pounded so loud she swore he could hear it. Chills raced over her skin as she waited, the dichotomy of his rough hands and gentle mouth making her head swim.

"I've waited a bloody long time for this," he rasped.

His mouth captured hers, hot and hard. He groaned and pulled her closer, until the entirety of her body was pressed against his.

Though they'd kissed in the past, it'd been nothing like this. He kissed her like he was famished, but with such finesse that pleasure streaked through her. His lips were warm and skilled. A master's.

How had she lived so long without this?

His tongue traced over her lips, demanding entrance. She tried to hold onto her resistance. It was the only thing that protected her. She could lose herself to him.

His teeth pulled at her bottom lip, a little nip of pain that made an ache bloom low in her belly. When the tip of his tongue demanded again, she parted her lips with a whimper. His tongue swept across hers, hot and agile, as his hand held her head steady for the assault.

He'd trapped her in a web of pleasure and strength. She'd wanted it before it had ever started, and now she was nothing but ravenous desire. He was so skilled with his mouth that if he asked in the right way, she'd give him anything.

"Bloody hell, you taste so good," he rumbled against her lips. "Wanted this forever."

Malcolm took her mouth again, hot and hard, and gripped her hips with both hands. Never letting go of her lips, he lifted her onto the desk as if she weighed nothing. She gasped when he used a deft hand to part her legs and moved one of his own big thighs between them.

When Sofia opened her mouth to protest, Malcolm took the opportunity to taste her more deeply. He couldn't believe she was here with him. Kissing him. He'd waited so bloody long for this. Fantasized about it hundreds of times.

And now she was here. In his arms. His head buzzed with the pleasure of feeling her beneath his hands. When her body stiffened and she tried to move away from him, he gripped her hips and pulled her until her sex pressed against his thigh. He was too tall to pull her against his cock in this position, though perhaps it was for the best. She was wary and he didn't want to scare her away.

He gripped her hips and set up a rhythm, making her ride his thigh. She cried out and shuddered, her fingers curling into his shirt.

He wanted to feel her lose herself against him. They'd shared nothing but chaste kisses when they'd been younger. Their love had been sweet. Pure.

There was nothing pure about him now. Nor about what he wanted to do to her.

His cock throbbed unbearably and he ached to sink inside of her heat. She burned his thigh, a hint of the heat he would feel if he took her. He groaned. To know her wet heat and feel her clench around him? Heaven.

To make her come around his cock? Perfection.

He could at least make her come. To know the sounds she made. To know her face as pleasure overtook her.

With a last nip at her lip, he moved his mouth to her neck and tasted her skin. Smooth and silky. A hint of salt. He laved her, unable to get enough of her taste.

Her hips were lush beneath his hands as he worked her against his thigh. How he wished there were no clothes between them, that he could feel her silky flesh against him. See her .

"Malcolm!" she gasped, tugging at his shirt and leaning her head away to give him better access. She whimpered as he bit the crook of her neck and started to move her hips on her own.

Was this what she would be like in bed? Losing her mind and taking her pleasure into her own hands?

Gods, how he wanted to know her like that. To see her like that. To feel her.

She continued to move against his thigh, her motions becoming less graceful and more desperate. He withdrew his mouth from the smooth skin of her neck and glanced up to see her face twisted into a mask of beautiful desperation. She bit her full lower lip, her brow furrowed as she tried to reach her peak. Low, needy sounds came from her throat. Frustrated sounds.

Wild desire surged through him. Desire to make her come. To help her reach that peak.

"I'm going to take your trousers off," he said.

She stiffened, then nodded. "Yes. Gods yes."

He swept a hand over her trousers and called upon the aether, envisioning her trousers disappearing. A second later, her legs gleamed in the firelight, bare.

She jerked, startled.

He slipped his hand into her white cotton panties and groaned at the feel of her silky flesh. Wet heat met his fingertips.

"Yes," she moaned, dropping her head back. Her legs parted.

His gaze was riveted to her white cotton panties. The way his big hand disappeared down the front was obscene. Nearly uncontrollable pleasure surged through him. He wanted to tear the white cotton off with his teeth and plunge inside of her, feel her close tightly around him.

He shuddered and pulled himself back, focusing on the incredible feeling of her pussy beneath his fingertips. So wet and slick, opening for him like the loveliest flower. His mouth watered to taste her, to plunge deep or flick over her clitoris. Anything. Just to have his lips and tongue on her. To taste her.

But later. He'd waited so long for this, he wanted to savor every moment.

Her hips jerked when he found her clitoris. She cried out when he began to rub in small circles. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck. Trusting him.

She probably shouldn't trust him. He should stop this.

But there was no way in hell he would. He wanted her too badly. Needed to feel her orgasm too badly. To know what it was to enter her, if only with his fingers.

With a growl, he slipped his fingers down, seeking her entrance. She was slick and ready, her skin silk. Slowly, savoringly, he slipped a finger inside her heat, groaning at the feeling of her clenching around him.

"Malcolm!" Sofia shifted to give him better access, moving her hips on his hand, seeking more.

Gods, how he wanted to see her. To gaze upon her dark curls and the pink flesh between her thighs. She rode his hand, whimpering in his ear.

"You want more?" he asked.

"Yes. Now, Malcolm." She bit the side of his neck. Pleasure tore through him, making his cock jerk and his muscles clench .

"Greedy." He withdrew his finger. She moaned and bit him again. He almost came in his trousers. Bloody hell, he liked how she gave direction.

Unable to help himself, he slipped his hand from her panties and slipped his fingers into his mouth. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he sucked on them. He couldn't get enough of her taste.

He worked his hand beneath the white cotton and pushed two fingers inside of her, his hips thrusting as he felt her wet heat close around him. She moaned against his ear as he began to thrust, being sure to press forward against the sensitive pad of flesh within her.

Need roared through him as she began to move her hips, fucking herself on his fingers.

"Malcolm. Malcolm." Her anguished voice sounded at his ear, her breathing hard. She was desperate to come, her body nearly vibrating with need. It ignited his own.

As much as he wanted to drag this out, to feel her moving against him forever, he wanted to feel her orgasm more. His thumb found her clitoris and began to make small circles, increasing the speed and pressure as she begged him for more.

When she cried out and her pussy began to clench around his thrusting fingers, he imagined that it was his cock within her. He tried to draw it out, to make it last. Her thighs trembled violently as her muscles grasped him.

But when she ground herself down against his hand, demanding him deeper, he broke.

He had to fuck her. To feel her around him. Tear off her panties and flip her over and thrust into her tight sheath. He'd make her his. He'd make her know who was gripping her hips and pounding into her. She'd come around him, a dozen times. Until she knew she belonged to him.

The tremors of her orgasm faded and he removed his hand, going to tear off her panties and make his fantasy a reality. Need tore through him, violent and demanding. He had to have her.

He had her panties gripped in his fists when he glanced up to see her barely supporting herself on the desk. Her muscles were lax from pleasure, her eyelashes resting against her cheeks and her dark curls falling around her shoulders.

Malcolm dropped his hands and stepped back, his chest heaving. He had to get control of himself. She looked exhausted. She'd just been tortured by the High Witches.

Now wasn't the time for what he wanted. When he finally had her, he wanted her enthusiastic, not exhausted.

But fates, his cock ached. Malcolm spun away. Stalked to the hearth. When the golden flame didn't calm him, he went to the whisky on the far shelf and poured himself three healthy fingers.

He swigged the whisky, trying to calm his racing heart and raging cock. His hand shook slightly as he squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to get the intoxicating sight of Sofia out of his mind.