Witch Interrupted Page 23

  “That wasn’t a good huh.” She yawned. “Can you hurry? I need to smack you around some before I pass out.”

  “You’re not going to hit anyone.” He rolled off her and inspected the handcuffs. His eyes refused to focus. With a growl, he pried the cuffs. It hadn’t taken much effort before the shower, but now he found himself straining. One loop popped with a clink.

  The other remained firmly around her wrist.

  “I will too hit you. I’m a killer,” she protested. “You said so yourself once.”

  “A killer who likes to be spanked.”

  “I, ah.” Her gaze met his for one long moment that silenced the crazed pulse in his ears. Her embarrassment was palpable. “I would destroy anyone else who touched me the way you did.”

  “What does that mean?” The freckles across her nose and cheeks tempted him to kiss her, but the sex was over until tomorrow night. Kissing had no purpose.

  But her lips looked so sweet as she blushed. “Are you going to undo my cuffs or not?”

  “Sit up.” Too many concerns nipped him simultaneously. Her blush, the cuffs and whatever was wrong with his sensory receptors. Heart attacks didn’t cause fizziness inside and torpor outside. And if this were a heart attack, gazing deep into his—his test subject’s espresso-hued eyes wouldn’t pause it. “I need a different angle on your wrists.”

  With an ill-concealed mutter, she scuffled into a sitting position. Squinting at the handcuffs, she wriggled the metal. “Got a bobby pin?”

  He rubbed his left arm. It didn’t ache, which seemed to verify this wasn’t a heart attack. Whatever was happening to his body, it was bothersome but not critical.

  “Marcus?” Katie prompted. “Hairpin?”

  He quit rubbing his arm before she asked him why he was doing that. “I barely even have hair.”

  “What about a paper clip?”

  Tired of this, he seized the remaining cuff and pulled hard enough for the metal to hurt his fingers. The unexpected bite of pain made him wince. “Dammit. I don’t understand.”

  “You probably warped it when you kept he-manning the lock instead of using a key. Brute strength isn’t always the answer.”

  “Well, I can’t he-man it now.” He flipped his hand, shaking away the hurt.

  “A likely excuse.” She glared at him, an expression that matched the fact her hair was sticking up all over her head. “You don’t trust me being loose.”

  “I wouldn’t need an excuse.” What would she do if he told her he might be sick? “I’d simply keep you handcuffed.”

  Katie squeezed her forehead with her free hand. “I don’t want to argue. I’m too drained.”

  “There’s no reason for you to be drained. You cast one chi spell.” Hiding the fact his knees bobbled when he stood, Marcus went in search of a paperclip and healing capsules. “Perhaps you weren’t economical with your reserves. You were distracted.”

  “It wasn’t the chi spell.” She pulled the sheet around her and groped for her glasses on the side table. “Are you telling me you didn’t notice?”

  “Notice that you were distracted?” He shuffled through his odds and ends drawer, discarding straws, plastic utensils, a compass, several screwdrivers, a USB cord, a slide ruler and a penlight before he found a paperclip. “I caused your distraction.”

  Marcus tried to remember when he’d started feeling unlike himself. Before the sex? No. He’d felt like his horny self. During the sex? No. He’d felt like his domineering self. At the end?

  Possibly. When Katie had orgasmed, she’d sought the dittany link. He’d felt it. That connection would have made sense for a real couple during intercourse since mental openness expressed affection. But they were business partners at best, and she’d been frank about her dislike of him.

  After he’d sensed the dittany link, he’d been busy with a monster climax, and everything else had faded to insignificance.

  “You’re the one who’s distracted,” Katie said, and he realized she’d been speaking to him for almost a minute. “Are you all right?”

  What should he tell her? Marcus stared at the small, lovely woman in his bed, wishing she were trustworthy. Wishing she did feel enough affection for him that she’d bared her essence when he’d been inside her. “I’m fine. I was thinking of…something in the next experiment. What were you saying?”

  “I was asking if you noticed that I gave you my magic.” She rubbed her cheek on her bare shoulder as she yawned again. “That’s why I’m drained.”

  Marcus froze in the act of handing her the paper clip. “You did what?”

  He sank onto the bed, flabbergasted. She’d given him magic? He had witch magic, Katie’s magic, inside him, right now?

  She poked him with the paperclip. “You’re welcome.”

  “That wasn’t part of the experiment!” He shouldn’t feel like shit with witch magic inside him. He should feel powerful. She must have done something wrong.

  She straightened, her eyebrows flying toward her hairline. “How does this change your experiment? You confirmed my wolf gets stronger. We were just…wrapping up.”

  He hadn’t calculated the variables. He didn’t know how she’d done it or how much power she’d given him. He hadn’t known. “I need to see my lattice.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t save any power to do that.”

  “What have you done?” He rubbed his temples. Taking magic from a wolf was one thing; transferring was another. She’d just barged into his psyche without any pretesting.

  He hadn’t authorized her to give him…anything.

  She was watching him with big, worried eyes. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  The fizzing anxiety shot him back to his feet while his bones and muscles protested his weight. He rested a hand on the cabinets above the pull-down bed. “I’m not pleased.”

  “You’re never pleased. Not with me.” Katie realigned the paper clip into the appropriate shape.

  She manipulated the cuffs with expertise. She’d done this before. Marcus found himself irritated by the thought of her encountering handcuff issues with a prior lover, but lock picking was more likely due to keeper training than sex play. She’d seemed as surprised by her reaction to the light kink as he was by his.

  Was it his wolf who’d enjoyed it—or him? He’d never enjoyed anything kinky prior to the transformation, but he’d never tried anything kinky. Which didn’t answer the question. Was it him or the wolf?

  He hated when he couldn’t control his primitive side. That too had been absent prior to the transformation and had plagued him ever since. However, he couldn’t deny he took a keen pleasure in dominating Katie. Seeing her helplessly aroused and at his mercy. No other wolf could have done it, perhaps no other man.

  He’d captured her, he’d outsmarted her, and now he’d mastered her. He’d had the deadly Chang Cai bound and begging him to fuck her.

  What’s more, he’d had Katie Zhang, who’d been a pain in his ass since that first horrible dragon tattoo, begging him to do more than fuck her. She, not her wolf, had confessed his bay capsule hurt her feelings and asked him to make love to her.

  Maybe he had.

  The Katie who’d wanted him to love her had left part of herself inside his body. Part of him was inside her body.

  He might be numb on the outside and ticked as hell that she’d screwed up the experiment, but it didn’t stop his erection from returning.

  Marcus put on sweats to hide it. After he was dressed, she tossed him the handcuffs. He caught them, glad his reflexes hadn’t taken a complete hiatus.

  “Do I get clothes?” she asked, saucy and belligerent at the same time. “Or are you planning on keeping me naked and chained up?”

  “It’s a thought.” If he didn’t allow clothes, no doubt he’d wake tomorrow and she’d be fully dressed anyway. “I suppose you might get cold.”

  “Let me see if I can find where I threw my…” She rolled over on the mattress, the sheet slipping to reveal the supple
curve of her back. A mark high on her shoulder showed where he’d bitten her as they’d made…as they’d wrapped up the experiment.

  The sheet dropped lower. Her ass was pink from what he’d done to her.

  He’d like to bite her there instead of her shoulder. He’d like to hear her cry out his name, desperate for him. He’d like to make love to her again.

  Right now. Because he wanted to.

  He realized she wasn’t looking for panties and walked to her side of the bed. Wordlessly, he held out his hand. She was in the process of secreting the bent paper clip beneath the mattress. She offered him a shameless grin and held it out. It was almost as if she’d done it to amuse him.

  It wasn’t particularly funny that she’d ditch him the first chance she got. She wouldn’t be leaving him so much as undertaking a suicide mission to rescue her father and friends, but either way, he wasn’t going to smile about it.

  “Do what you need to do and get back into bed.” He wasn’t giving her that chance. They had a deal, and if she were dead, he’d—he’d not be able to complete his experiments. The experiments she’d torqued, leapfrogging weeks of planning because she’d had some half-baked impulse to please him.

  Fucking hell.

  “I’m tired,” he added.

  Her smile faded. “You’re angry.”

  “Tired,” he corrected. He disappeared into the facilities long enough to mop up the water and prepare for bed, knowing she wasn’t handcuffed and could escape, or try to. He was a wolf. He’d be on her in two seconds. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  His body felt so worn and old by the time he fell into bed beside her, he couldn’t hide a groan. Sore spots that shouldn’t exist throbbed up and down his back, with a particularly large one in his ribcage.

  He cuffed one of her wrists for sleep. If he couldn’t get the lock open in the morning, he’d give her the damned paper clip. He squinted and couldn’t see fingers wiggling, or Katie, or the windows, or anything. When had the trailer gotten so freaking dark?

  Covers rustling, she patted his arm, then his chest. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  He couldn’t confide in her. If she knew he was ill, she’d take advantage.

  “Good night, Katie.” Marcus rolled onto his side, wincing when his sore hip found the bar beneath the foldout mattress. He couldn’t hear the night birds outside or the wind in the trees, sounds he’d grown accustomed to in this section of the park. The fizzing inside him drowned out noises, mucked with his vision, clogged his nostrils. It was a long time before he could sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcus dreamed he was on a cloud. Heavenly scents surrounded him. Sex and woman. The peppery taste on his tongue heated his body. Softness cradled him. His hips jabbed into it, filling him with lust. He thrust again, pleased when the friction ratcheted up.

  Unfortunately, he was jolted out of this pleasant dream by a stout blow to the shoulder. “Get off me, sleeping beauty.”

  During sleep he’d tangled in the bed blankets and Katie’s limbs. His leg was flung over her, his cock shoved against her warm hip. His hand cupped her breast.

  The nipple was hard. So was he.

  She kicked both her legs, knocking him aside. He raised his hands to show he meant no harm, but she bounced off the bed anyway, even more tousled than she’d been last night.

  Hands on hips, she glared down at him. It wasn’t terribly effective when her hair looked like a rooster’s comb and she was wearing one of his old T-shirts.

  She wasn’t wearing the handcuffs.

  He flew out of bed. When his feet hit the floor, he stumbled. Righted himself clumsily. She blinked those thick eyelashes at him, not offering a hand or an explanation.

  “What did you do with the cuffs?” he barked.

  Unperturbed, she pointed at the canvas strap, where the handcuffs dangled. “Relax. I didn’t break your toy.”

  Marcus rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling every one of his hundred-plus years. Did he have the flu? Wolves didn’t get the flu. “You aren’t supposed to be at liberty.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

  Marcus growled. Today he needed to begin calculations for the next phase of testing. Analyze what she’d done to him. He was behind in recording last night’s observations and felt like death.

  Katie, in contrast, looked razor-sharp and completely rested. Her scruffiness didn’t hide that. He’d have to bust ass to stay ahead of her today, and he had enough work to do.

  “Coffee,” he grumbled, though he hadn’t required caffeine since his transformation.

  “You don’t have any. Let’s go get coffee and sausage biscuits and check the rendezvous point.” She pulled on a pair of jeans, wriggling to slide them over her ass. He glimpsed red panties and soft, kissable abdomen. “Look, Vern’s note didn’t say for sure Lars caught them. There’s a chance they escaped. It’s not like they have our number to leave messages or know where we are. Vern will be expecting us in Garner.”

  “How long have you been awake?” he asked, tearing his gaze from her hips.

  “Around four this morning I puttered around before coming back to bed. I wanted to assess our options for the rescue.” On his prep counter, she’d unpacked her tattoo supply kit and the remaining components they’d collected from the shop yesterday. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

  “You dosed me with agrimony again.”

  “Nope.” She gestured toward a plastic baggie full of a tan-and-green mixture. “If I wanted to knock you out, I wouldn’t use anything as lame as agrimony.”

  She could have taken off. Again. Yet she hadn’t.

  Why had she stayed? Gotten back into bed with him, no less?

  Because he was useful to her? Or because she wanted to?

  He didn’t care which one it was.

  Something akin to relief built inside him. She had no idea how close he was to dragging her into bed right now to celebrate. He sniffed, checking to see if she might reciprocate, but smelled nothing out of the ordinary.

  Nothing period.

  Nose? Still malfunctioning.

  Relief that she hadn’t ditched him? The fizzy jumble from last night. He wasn’t happy. Her magic had screwed him up inside.

  Marcus advanced on her and gripped her shoulders. “Take it out,” he said. “Take the magic back out of me.”

  She raised her chin to study him. “It’s not that simple. It’s been twelve hours. The dittany that lets us link has worn off.”

  “I have more.” He let her go and yanked open a supply cabinet. “Your deposit wasn’t timetabled properly. You didn’t have my permission—”

  A finger poked him in the ribs, and he hissed at the flash of pain. “That’s a nasty-looking bruise.”

  “Bruise?” The narrow bathroom door had a mirror on the outside. Marcus, who’d slept shirtless, twisted to examine his torso. To his shock, reddish-purple bruises darkened his skin in various areas. “What the hell?”

  She stroked his injuries, her touch gentle. “You didn’t seem bothered at the time, but I beat the hell out of you last night before you took me to bed. Serves you right.”

  When he’d had her confined over his shoulder, spanking her shapely ass, she’d reciprocated. The knee in the ribs—Marcus gingerly probed the bones to see if anything was cracked—had stolen his breath. He should have shaken off the damage within the hour.

  He slammed the bathroom door, unwilling to see more. He felt imbalanced—not like a witch and not like a wolf. “You didn’t give me magic. You put some kind of curse on me. I feel like shit. I can’t smell, I can’t hear, I can barely stand. What the fuck did you do, Katie?”

  “A certain scientist might say I reversed the direction of the focal current and fed my magic to your lattice. It was your idea, might I add—some techno-babble about supersaturating yourself.” She leaned against a counter and crossed her arms. “We had the dittany link and nothing else. You can’t m
ake magic out of hair and spit.”

  “That’s all you did?” He wanted to believe her, but he also wanted to believe he could convince her that his experiments would facilitate a rescue of her family. Was he a fool?

  “That’s all I did.” She scrubbed the hair on top of her head. “You know, this reminds me of something. I was the focal for a lot of group workings with the council, and I—well, I may have used those opportunities to clean the hell out of everyone’s reserves.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “You took more power than necessary?” To do so in the coven network was considered extremely bad craft. Other witches wouldn’t team with a colleague who’d leave them needlessly drained, unable to defend themselves.

  “Every chance I got,” she said. “It rendered the others useless for up to a week and gave me a fucking break from the backstabbing. The council isn’t exactly the Girl Scouts.”

  “That I know.” The keepers had been competitive to the point of sabotaging rivals. Chang Cai had been near the top of the ladder most of her time with the council, the go-to witch for plum and difficult assignments alike. After Vernon had arrived, she’d been in his inner circle, and Lars had not.

  Lars had spoken of her as depraved and weak, resorting to various ploys to conceal her failures. Other long-term keepers—the few Marcus had been allowed to meet—had described her ruthless competence. Out of Lars’s hearing, of course. They were all thankful she was dead, because apparently she’d scared everyone. They’d worried someone with her power could actually kill them with magic if she tried. At the same time, envy of Chang Cai’s abilities had lingered.

  Marcus had no doubt the woman before him was competent. Potentially ruthless. Even scary. But depraved and weak?

  Hardly.

  “I have some experience with your situation,” she told him. “There are ways to deal with it that don’t leave you…vulnerable. Any kind of vulnerability got exploited by the council one way or another.”

  The more she revealed about her time with the keepers, the more he had to wonder why she’d remained with them for so long. Exploited was an understatement. She’d confessed they’d used her as bait. Her sexual curiosity disarmed male wolves, and her alpha would have compounded their fascination. He’d struggled against the combination himself. With wolves, hormonal responses like lust were seen as normal, but witches, like humans, preferred to think of themselves as above physicality.