Scarlet Heat by Evangeline Anderson
“Oh, it’s you,” she said when she opened the door. “What do you want this time of night?” Before I could speak she held up a hand to stop me. “Wait, you’re a vampire. Of course you’re up at night.” She yawned. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“Can I come in?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“If you make it quick. This is supposed to be my early night.” She opened the door wider and motioned at me.
“I’m sorry to bother you—I can see you’re ready for bed,” I said, following her into the living room and sitting on the faded floral couch where Victor and I had sat together just a few weeks ago. Remembering that made a lump form in my throat and I had to swallow hard to keep from crying.
“That’s okay.” She waved a hand at me. “I never go to bed much before one anyway. No big deal.”
“You look, uh, different tonight,” I said. “I mean, than the last two times I’ve seen you.”
“Oh, the wicked witch look?” She laughed. “Yeah, that’s mostly just for clients. They come to visit a witch, they want me to look like someone who could cook up the perfect revenge spell for their nosey neighbor or hex their pissy cubical mate at work.”
“Or summon demons from the other side,” I offered, trying to smile.
Gwendolyn shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I mean there are lines no witch should cross. If she wants to continue doing white magic, that is…”
“So the whole ‘I’m an evil, scary witch’ routine is all an act?” I asked, frowning.
“Yup. Even the piercing.” She pulled the tiny silver ring from her lush bottom lip and held it out in her palm. “See? Clip-on. But I know you didn’t come here to talk about my fabulous witchy fashion sense—you want to know who planted that trap on your man’s land, don’t you?”
It had been so long since I even thought about the trap that it caught me off guard.
“Uh, no,” I said. “That’s not actually why I’m here at all.”
“Good,” Gwendolyn said. “Because I don’t know yet. Although I am very close to finding out. My discovery spell should be finished in a matter of hours.”
“Speaking of the trap though,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I had an…experience tonight with something like it. A…a whip that had the same kind of feel about it.”
She frowned. “You mean spelled? Cursed?”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “There was that same feeling of…of evil intent. Malevolence almost. Do you think the same person who bought the trap also got the whip made? Because if so, I think I know who did it.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “Sure. But they must have plenty of money to spend and a good reason to want to get you if they can afford to commission two cursed items in one month. Magic that dark doesn’t come cheap.”
“She’s got plenty of money, all right,” I said, thinking of LeeAnn and her slutty designer clothes and cute little car. “And plenty of reason to hate me too.”
“So you know who it is?” she demanded. “Then what am I running all these spells for?”
“I only put it all together tonight,” I said, looking down at my hands. “She—the girl who did it—is probably really happy right now. She got what she wanted—for Victor and me to be apart.”
“Oh, sweetie…” Gwendolyn, who had been in the worn armchair across from me, came to sit on the couch beside me. “What happened?” she asked, patting my arm. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I took a deep breath. “And I don’t want to cry about it anymore, either. I just want…I need to make it right.”
“Make it right? How? You want me to work a reconciliation spell or something? Because I have to tell you, my Grams is way better at that kind of thing than I am and she’s out of town at a conference right now.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I want you to break it—break the blood-bond between Victor and me.”
“What?” Gwendolyn sat back on the couch and frowned at me. “Breaking a blood-bond is serious business—dark magic. I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do,” I said levelly. “You made the stake for Corbin and you’re disposing of the trap for Victor. You’ll do it—for a price.”
She put a hand on her hip, looking pissed. “So you think I’m for sale? Just like that?”
“I think I have something you want.” I held out a wrist to her. “Blood. You asked for it last time but Victor wouldn’t let me give it. This time I’m here by myself. Please, Gwendolyn, I need to get this done. Victor and I…” I started to choke and forced myself to go on. “We…we can’t be together anymore.”
“Well, crap…” She sighed. “Look, why don’t I pour us both a glass of wine and we’ll talk about it? You can drink a little bit—right?”
“Yes, but I’m not really thirsty right now,” I said. Suddenly a craving hit me. “This may sound weird but do you have any pickles? Dill ones?”
“What?” She gave me an incredulous look. “Uh, did you really just ask me for dill pickles?”
“Yeah.” I nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, I know that’s weird. I’ve been having these…cravings tonight.”
“Okay, well actually, we do have some.” She motioned for me. “Come on into the kitchen.”
I followed her through the house into a surprisingly large kitchen with yellow and white checkered curtains hanging in the windows. A green ceramic frog with a dish scrubber in his mouth sat on the side of the sink and a cheery red tea kettle was on the spotless white stove. All together it looked like a completely normal kitchen—there was nothing witchy about it at all except for a huge black pot hanging from the rack over the oven. Gwendolyn saw me eyeing it and grinned.
“That’s Grams’ gumbo pot. She always says you can’t make good authentic roux in anything but cast iron.”
“Oh,” I said. “I thought—”
“That we were hunched over the cauldron cackling and brewing spells?” She arched an eyebrow at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess there’s a lot about witches I don’t know.”
“That’s okay—apparently there’s a lot about vamps I don’t know,” she said, opening a spotless white refrigerator. She brought out a mason jar and held it up. “For instance, I didn’t know you guys could eat pickles.”
“I didn’t either, until tonight,” I said, taking the jar from her. I unscrewed the metal ring and pried up the lid. The sharp scent of vinegar and dill assaulted my nostrils, making my mouth water. After all the fast food I’d had that night, I shouldn’t be hungry again for hours. But the smell of those pickles made my stomach growl like I hadn’t eaten in years. “These smell delicious,” I said.
“They’re homemade. Grams still does her own canning,” Gwendolyn said, handing me a fork. “Dig in.”
I speared a slice and stuck it in my mouth.
“Mmmm…”
“Glad you’re enjoying them,” Gwendolyn said dryly. “So…does your sudden new appetite have anything to do with why you want to leave your man?”
I nearly choked on a pickle.
“No,” I said, putting the jar down by the side of the sink. “It’s…a long story. But we need to get away from each other. I need to…need to set him free.”
“Set him free?” She frowned. “Free of what?”
“Of me.” I took a deep breath, feeling like I was going to cry. “I did something tonight…something I can never take back. Please don’t make me talk about it. I just…I need to break the bond. Can you help me or not?”
“Well…” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her feet. I noticed that she was wearing white Hello Kitty slippers with pink bows that matched her pajamas.
“Please,” I said again. “I’ll give you as much of my blood as you want.”
“I don’t need all that much but I do need some and I haven’t had any luck getting young vampire blood anywhere else.” She sighed. “All right, I’ll do it—I’ll try to anyway. But it won’t be
“Do you have any of it?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “No, and it’s not easy to get either. I’ll have to go to the border to get it—come to think of it, I can do it at the same time I dispose of the trap. That way I don’t have to go twice. It’s not exactly a safe journey.”
My heart sank. “So…you can’t do it tonight?”
She frowned. “Geeze, you really want this done badly, huh? No, if I had some demon’s breath I could, but I can’t get any tonight. I’m not exactly dressed for a trip to the Great Barrier right now and like I said, it’s a pretty damn dangerous trip.”
“Not if you have someone to accompany you.”
The smooth, deep voice made me jerk in my chair. I looked up in time to see a tall man with pale skin and black hair leaning against the kitchen doorway as casually as though he’d been in the other room the whole time.
At second glance, I realized he was the same man I’d seen the last time I had been in Gwendolyn’s house when I was trying to get answers from her. He was tall—well over six feet—and had broad, muscular shoulders that nearly filled the doorway. But his most striking feature was definitely his eyes. In the shadows between the dark hallway and the warm golden glow of the kitchen they looked red—ruby red.
“Laish…” Gwendolyn sounded exasperated. “When are you going to stop showing up out of the blue like this?”
“When you stop needing me, ma cher.” He smiled and came into the kitchen. He was wearing an expensively tailored black suit and a crisp white Egyptian cotton shirt open at the collar with no tie. Somehow the white of the shirt made his pale skin look even paler, or maybe I was just contrasting him with Gwendolyn’s warm café au lait complexion.
“I don’t need you,” she said, frowning.
“On the contrary. Didn’t I just hear someone ask for demon’s breath?” Suddenly there was a sprig of flowers in his hand, though I would have sworn they were empty before.
“Oh!” For a moment Gwendolyn looked pleased. Then she glanced up at the man she’d called Laish with a frown. “What do you do? Hang around listening from the Shadow Lands to hear exactly what I need so you can have an excuse to show up?”
“I already know exactly what you need, mon ange,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. “And I will be more than pleased to give it to you.”
Gwendolyn’s cheeks flushed. “You’re awfully proud of yourself, aren’t you? You think if you show up here enough you can seduce me? Well, let me tell you, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch—”
“Be at ease, Gwendolyn.” He raised a hand to stop her. “I was simply talking about the demon’s breath.” He held out the flowers to her and I had a chance to look at them more closely.
The blossoms were like nothing I had ever seen before—each one was the size of a large coin. The petals were pointed like a Poinsettia and their color was striking—a pure, deep, velvety black. There was a round, blood red droplet in the center of each flower and they gave off a heavy, cloying aroma like fruit that was too ripe and might go rotten soon.
“Oh…” Gwendolyn took a step back, looking as though the wind had been taken out of her sails. “All right. Sorry.”
“No apologies are necessary,” he murmured. “Do you want the demon’s breath or not?”
“I…yes.” She nodded decisively. “I do. I need it.”
“Very good.” He gave her a devilish smile and stepped closer, backing her up against the kitchen counter. “Then you must be prepared to pay.”
Gwendolyn frowned. “I told you before, I’m not sleeping with you. Under any circumstances.”
He frowned convincingly. “And who said anything about the pleasures of the flesh? I am talking about a kiss, ma cher. Just one little kiss and you may have the herb.” He held up the sprig of flowers enticingly.
Gwendolyn looked like she was gathering her nerve, which seemed strange—she didn’t strike me as the kind of person who was scared of anyone. But for some reason this Laish person really unnerved her.
“Fine,” she said at last. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a quick kiss to his high cheekbone. “Satisfied? Give me the herb.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “I am by no means satisfied as I am sure you know. When I spoke of a kiss, I meant a real kiss—one with your mouth pressed to mine.”
Gwendolyn took a deep breath. “Whatever. I can do that—it doesn’t mean anything.”
She went on tiptoe again and pressed her full lips to his narrow but sensual mouth. When she pulled back after a fraction of a second, she was breathing hard.
“Now give me the herb,” she demanded.
“I don’t think so.” He smiled. “You keep jumping the gun, as they say, mon ange. Let me spell out the terms—I mean that I want to kiss you. That is the price of the oh-so-valuable ingredient you need for your spell.”
Gwendolyn frowned, trying to look exasperated but I could tell she was nervous.
“You just keep pushing and pushing, don’t you?” she demanded.
“If I didn’t push, you would never yield,” he murmured, his eyes hot as he looked at her. “Will you agree to my terms or not?”
“And if I do, you’ll give me the demon’s breath and leave me alone?”
He nodded. “For now.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her breasts protectively. “Go ahead. Just make it quick.”
“I will do no such thing,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “I fully intend to take my time and enjoy the taste of your luscious mouth, ma cher.”
Gwendolyn was definitely breathing harder now.
“Well just…don’t expect me to kiss you back,” she said nervously.
Laish laughed softly. “I don’t. In fact, I forbid it. I want you to hold completely still while I kiss you.”
“What?” she demanded. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nevertheless, those are my terms. Take them or leave them.” He arched an eyebrow at her again. “Well?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “All right, but only because it’s such a pain in the ass to get to the Great Barrier and I need the damn flowers tonight to get the blood for my spell.”
“The same spell that called for blood from Corbin—the vampire you made the soul eater stake for?”
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes.”
Laish studied her closely.
“A spell involving such powerful blood can only mean revenge. Some time you must tell me why you are in such dire need of vengeance, Gwendolyn. Who hurt you enough that you would risk your immortal soul to see them paid in full?”
“That’s none of your Goddamn business,” she said tightly.
“No, but it will be. I intend to make everything about you my business.” He cupped her cheek in one large hand and looked her up and down, taking in her pink and white pajamas and slippers. “I like the way you look tonight, Gwendolyn. So innocent and soft…almost virginal. Tell me, is it true what they say about a witch’s powers being stronger if she is untouched?”
Gwendolyn’s cheeks went dull red. “Shut up and kiss me if you’re going to. Otherwise go back to Hell and leave me alone.”
He laughed softly, a deep rumble that seemed to fill the room. The way he was looking at Gwendolyn made it obvious he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her.
I felt like an interloper—I wanted to get up and leave the room but I was afraid to move and draw attention to myself. Better just to sit quietly, I thought. After all, it was just a kiss. It would be over in a minute—right? Or maybe not.
Just at the point where I was debating leaving again, Laish took his payment. Though I wanted to look away and give them a measure of privacy, I found I couldn’t. It was like no kiss I had ever witnessed before.
Laish cupped both of Gwendolyn’s cheeks and tilted her face up to his. Looking into h
He held her mouth with his for what seemed like forever and then he pulled back a little and I saw the faintest flicker of his tongue as he stroked the seam of her lips, asking wordlessly for entrance.
Gwendolyn’s long black eyelashes fluttered down like fans on her high cheekbones and I heard her give a soft little moan of protest at the back of her throat. Laish licked her again, delicately but insistently.
She tried to pull back but he wouldn’t let her.
“No, Gwendolyn. I’m not finished kissing you yet.” His deep voice was soft but stern. “Open to me.”
She gave another frustrated sounding little moan but didn’t try to pull away again. And then, slowly, she parted her lips for him.
“You taste innocent too,” Laish murmured. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer and tasting her mouth slowly and thoroughly.
Gwendolyn made a helpless sound as he took her mouth. Her arms were still crossed over her chest but I saw her hands tighten into fists as though it was everything she could do to hold still. Did she want to push him away…or pull him closer? There was no way of telling—in fact, I had an idea she didn’t know herself.
I bit my own lip as I watched the kiss. It reminded me of the way Victor had kissed me when he swore to be gentle. The way he had tasted me when I agreed to trust him. Tears welled up in my eyes and a great wave of longing flowed over me. Victor, I thought. I miss you so much. I just want to see you again. I just want to go home…
I stood up from the table abruptly and stumbled from the kitchen back to the living room. I sat down on the couch and wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to cry. I didn’t want to get blood all over Gwendolyn’s sofa.
After a moment she came into the living room looking sheepish.
“Hey, are you okay? I’m really sorry about that.”
“I’m fine.” I sniffed and blotted my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt.”
“No, please.” She made a face. “I’m glad you did. Laish is so pushy. I’m, uh, sorry you had to see all that.”