Page 52 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
So what the Princess of Darkness couldn't figure out, was why she'd spent so many damned centuries lusting for Pestilence.
Itcouldhave been because Julian Roarke was one of two men to ever resist her temptations, she supposed.
She'd made certain that the other one was crucified.
Rejection was inconceivable to her. She was literally the most beautiful woman on the planet. Flawless. Victoria's Secret models sometimes sold their souls to have a hip-to-waist ratio to rival hers. Her blonde hair was more than twenty different highlights of shimmering gold. She had the thighs of a dancer, the ass of a yoga instructor, and the mouth of a porn star. She was sin personified. Sinning was kind of her deal.
And Julian Roarke never pitched even half a wood in her presence.
What the eternal fuck was she supposed to do with that?
She'd started with the usual seductions... innuendo, dancing, gifts, cajoling, enticing and so forth. She'd gone so far as to spread her legs on his bed once, and pleasure herself for him. AndShedid that for no man, for she was no man's object.
Julian had been unimpressed.
Then she'd gotten rough. Bonds, brands, curses,ad infinitum.
Andstillit came to pass, that Julian Roarke was the most stubborn motherfucker on the planet. Also, because of the nature of their existence, the Four Horsemen were out of her particular purview. Sure, they worked for her from time to time. She may be more powerful than they were. She could, and had, made their lives a living hell, but she had limited poweroverthem. She couldn't break them. She couldn't kill them.
And she was unable to rape them.
More's the pity.
But after all this time, she'd had an ace in the hole, as it were. A dark, devious trick, of which she was quite proud, that turned Julian's own power against him. As one of the most deadly creatures in existence, he'd been created to control those powers. And she'd pounced immediately. He was different than the primordial men. He was no barbarian, nor was he politician. No conqueror, warlord, or tyrant. No artist, writer, musician, or bard.
Julian, was a scientist. A shadow. A silent observer of balance and life. While other men pitted their strength and skill against their enemies, Julian felled them with a single-celled organism expelled from his breath. While other dreamers looked to the skies to contemplate the vastness of the universe, Julian held a universe of his own on the tip of his finger, inspecting and comprehending every last nanobe.
The knowledge in his eyes fascinated and frightened her. He resisted her because he saw what lived in between the dark matter that comprised her being. She wanted to show it to him. Wanted to unleash it upon him. He was pure. He was good. He was rare. And she wanted him so much, it distracted her from her real purpose here.
And while he resisted her, she'd cursed him. Because why the fuck not use the darkest magics to isolate him from any warmth, any touch, and especially, any other woman.
So who did this de Moray bitch think she was? Lucy was glad she’d ruined their party. The moment the witch had made herself vulnerable, Lucy had used her influence to fuck with their good time.
Watching the tart gallop away on Julian’s stallion, Lucy reached out and gripped Julian’s chin, hoping to capture his undivided attention. "You're hard, Julian," she purred into his ear, fitting her hips tightly against his.
"Not for long."
She could feel the length of him against her, the size and shape impressive, but... losing its potency.
A familiar emotion speared her, and then was smothered by a tempest of rage that she hid behind a throaty laugh. It wasn't hurt. No one hurt the Devil.
She rubbed her body against his, drawing her long, sharp nail down the stubbled angle of his cheek, she seethed at the way his pale eyes lingered on the path that had carried that de Moray bitch away.
Those Druid descendants were more powerful than she thought.
"Do you remember the plague of Cyprian?" she purred in his ear, and delighted in the instant rigidity of his muscles. She knew that of all his memories of her, Cyprian was the one he most hated. That he most feared.
Julian's pale eyes darkened to the color of ripe blueberries as they gazed into the past. "I remember being entranced and charmed by the ingenuity of the Romans. I remember walking among them, watching them learn how to use medicines, and clean water, and discover galaxies, and create a civilization the likes of which the world had not yet seen."
"Yes," Lucy hissed, rubbing her hand down his throat and across the broad expanse of his bare chest.
The warmth of another's hand still lingered there. God how she wanted to fuck him.
How she wanted to hurt him.
"I remember how you trapped me there with your dark magic. How you used the Chymerian chains to bind me for twenty-five years."
"That's nothing in the life of an immortal." Lucy waved his pain away.
