Page 45 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
Aerin grunted. “In all the spare time we have in between consulting it on how to defeat you?”
His sound of amusement was a puff of warmth against her neck.
“You’re not frightened are you, Aerin de Moray?”
More like petrified. “I wouldn’t tell you if I was.”
“No, I don’t expect you would.” His hands finally came unlatched from behind him and landed on either side of her head against the tree trunk. The beech gave a great shudder of protest, or was that her own shudder as his body pressed closer?
“What—what other information do you have for me?”
“Not anything solid, as of yet. I promise to have more tonight.” His lips skimmed the curve where her neck met her shoulder, light as a whisper. “I still can’t believe…”
“Aerin?” Moira’s bellow permeated the thick, seductive moment with some harsh reality. “Aerin, goddamnit, where did you get off to? You were supposed to be watching Cheeto.”
“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” Aerin swore, ducking away from Julian. “I have to go. You have to go. I have to… leave.” Why in the ninth circle of hell did she allow this man the power to seduce her like this? He was the damn virgin. Who the fuck did he think he was, emptying her head of thoughts?
“I’ll wait until tonight then,” he said with more than a little regret. “Though I would beg the answer, just whatwereyou planning on doing with that ax?”
“Mother of all fucks,” she cursed again. “I was supposed to chop a fucking tree branch big enough to make a broom.” She’d never get it before Moira found her to chew her ass out.
“Allow me.” Julian held his hand out, and Aerin surrendered the ax.
He pointed to a branch almost eye level with him and about the circumference of Aerin’s wrist. She nodded and moved out of the way, expecting several hacks before the thing came down.
He swatted at it with one hand, the ax moving faster than the eye could see.
Aerin’s mouth dropped open as he handed the ax back to her and stripped the limb of any sharp branches.
Holy fuck was he the sexiest thing that walked on two legs.
“I have to go,” she repeated dumbly.
“As you say.” He made no move away from her.
“I have lunch in the dryer. I mean—laundry in the fridge.”
“Do you, indeed?” He gave her the branch, the perfect size and shape for a broom, with a knowing smile his lips.
“Yup.” She backed away slowly, feeling wobbly on heels that had become like an extension of her own feet.
“I’ll see you at midnight then, Aerin de Moray.” He said, turning to disappear into the storm of wilting leaves. “Remember to be vigilant. They’ll come for you.”
Aerin retreated, trying not to think of the many meanings of the wordcome.
6
Azombie “came for them” much sooner than Aerin expected.
Like an hour after her tragically short conversation with Julian. Hell, her panties hadn’t even had time to cool off yet.
Aerin sat on the covered porch off the parlor in the front yard, the afternoon sun warming her skin as she attempted to craft a broom. She felt at once peaceful and turbulent. For someone used to boardrooms and redeye flights, a quiet afternoon working with her hands was oddly peaceful. Her bare feet and discarded blazer were her only concessions to comfort. She’d never been the crafty type, magical or otherwise, but dammit, she was determined.
Moira was lurking about somewhere, still pissed that a neglected Cheeto had eaten nearly all Tierra’s peppermint. Silver lining: it had seemed to fix his gastrointestinal expulsions. Tierra had gone to the shop in search of warding materials and had taken Claire and Tommy with her. Ironically, the pregnant lady was the safest when she left the house, as Death had made it pretty clear that his baby mama was off limits. At least, for the moment.
God, their lives were like a really bad reality TV show.
Up next on Survivor: Apocalypse. Will the sisters find out that Aerin has been secretly meeting with Pestilence? Will Claire forgive War for stealing the Grimoire? Is Tierra’s baby the antichrist? Will Conquest seek revenge for a tidal wave?
