Page 54 of Samhain Savior
“It has nothing to do with any of that,” I replied, my tone bored but my mind racing. Oh, the things I could do with a jealous witch in my clutches.
Judgment may have been my calling...but punishment was my true passion.
“What is it then?” she snarked, and I grinned inwardly as I began a tally of all my little witch’s infractions. She’d be listing them off for me one by one later.
“It has to do with the fact that one of us is an immortal demon with the ability to shadow walk themselves out of dangerous situations and the other is very much affected by gravity and will likely become a crimson stain on the street below at the first strong gust of wind.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks glowing red with her embarrassment. “I guess since you’re the immortal demon that makes me the crimson stain?”
“Not if you do as you’re told and allow me to do my job.”
She sighed. “Fine. You can go.”
“Granting me permission? How benevolent, witch.” My words dripped with sarcasm.
“I can be gracious,” she retorted, and this time I couldn’t hold in my laugh.
But the best part was that neither could she, although it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
I knew she was conflicted about what had happened with Nathaniel; part of the supernatural world she may have been, but occasionally, even witches had a hard time with the work we did. TheUmbra Fratrumwas not for the faint of heart; we made the hard calls when no one else wanted to, and for that, people often hated us.
I just hadn’t realized how badly I didn’t want Delilah to be one of them.
Returning to the window, I removed my jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the sill. Hoisting myself out the window, I stood on the wide ledge, turning and gazing up at the towering spire above me.
It wasn’t that far.
Bending my knees, I jumped, using a burst of shadows to lift me the extra inches needed to grab onto the ledge at the base of the spire. With a quick push, I was up and over, my muscles tensing as another gust of wind wrapped itselfaround me, feeling like it wanted to shove me right back off.
“Did you find it?” Looking back down, I could see Delilah staring at me, her small torso leaning out the window in the same way I had earlier.
“I have literally just gotten up here.”
“No need to be so sour,” she spat back at me, and I raised my eyebrows at her uncharacteristic rise in aggression. She pursed her lips, but didn’t retreat inside, instead pulling her cloak tighter around her and the ridiculous hedgehog pouch she wore wherever she went.
From this angle, she looked so small, delicate and vulnerable in a way that only humans could be. I shook my head, not understanding my own thoughts, as I flexed my hand, the skin still tight and pink from where I’d tried to wrap them around her throat in New York.
I hadn’t truly meant her harm. In fact, thinking about it now, the idea of hurting her was abhorrent to me. My feelings regarding the witch were conflicted, and I couldn’t help but acknowledge the contradiction between how I wanted her and also wanted to do my duty to the Brotherhood.
Ididwant to wrap my hands around her throat, but only in a way that made her writhe and moan with pleasure. To cradle her flesh beneath my fingers and feel herpulse flutter at my every ministration. Adjusting my cock as it hardened in my pants, I thought about all the things I could teach the young witch. All the dark and depraved ways I could make her scream, shaking the very halls of Hell itself.
But I couldn’t do any of that until we recovered this relic and protected the Fallen Key.
Embracing my demon, I allowed my fingers to extend into claws, the tips darkening as they sharpened into thick, onyx points. Reaching up, I thrust one set of claws into the painted white wood of the spire, then the other, climbing as quickly as the ravaging wind would allow.
At the top, I paused, wrapping one hand securely around the very top. Above me, the gilded weathervane spun like a top in the tempest that had begun to swirl over the harbor.
Frowning, I considered that. The weather had been so mild when we’d arrived in Boston, sunny and clear, the type of east coast autumn day that brought both crisp temperatures and warm sunshine. But now the sky was dark, the horizon holding nothing but a brewing storm that was moving quickly.
Directly toward Old North Church.
Casting out with my senses, I reached east with my mind, poking at the edges of the system with shadowsand magic, something I should have done the moment I spotted it, if I hadn’t been so bloody distracted.
The second I made contact my mind recoiled, the muscles of my abdomen clenching as I fought the urge to retch.
That was no ordinary storm. A natural weather system had a certain flavor, like ozone and electricity. Touching it would feel like licking the end of a battery, metallic with a hint of a buzz. A real storm was living energy and under the right circumstances, I could engage with it, harness the power within it to supplement my own.
Butthisstorm was anything but natural.
