Captivating The Witch

“I assume it’s to cast a spell. Do you need me to clean this office?”

“Uh...” He strolled the floor, walking slower as he passed beside her. She smelled like lemons hanging fresh in the tree, sweet yet spiked with a bite of sour that a man desired to lick purely for the tangy thrill of it.

How to ask for the magic he needed without sending her running? What witch would agree to work against her kind? He hadn’t enough information on Les Douze to know if she would be open to his needs. What were his needs, beyond to destroy some dead witches? If they really were witches.

He had to work up to that slowly. Convince her that she wanted to stop those witches, and not because a demon had asked her to. How to do that?

She tilted her head. A lift of her brow not only took him in, but also teased. And a crook of her finger and a lick of her lips delivered the coup de grâce. Yeah, seduction. The woman was a master at it. And she hadn’t to do anything more than quirk one of those luscious brows. He could kiss her again. Right now. Pull her to him by curling his hand around the back of her neck and bruising her mouth with his until she gasped for freedom.

The most powerful witch in Paris? He’d expected someone more...dark. And haggish, actually. Older, too. Although, he shouldn’t judge by appearance. Paranormals who lived centuries had a tendency to age so slowly one could never know if the sexy young vixen eyeing him was in her third or fourth decade, or perhaps her third or fourth century.

But he’d never get anywhere if all he did was make out with the woman. The way he could get her to help him was to keep it businesslike. Professional. And he had to check out her skills, make sure she was up to par.

“Right, the murders,” he muttered, grabbing the opportunity. “Can you cleanse this office?”

“That’s the reason you kidnapped me? To ask me to clean your office?”

He nodded. No sense arguing the kidnapping. It had gone down that way, and he wasn’t proud of it. “Like I said, my men can be indelicate.”

“Seems a rather dramatic effort for something so anticlimactic.”

He could give her a climax if that was what she wanted— Ah! No. He had to stay on point. Business, Ed, business.

“I do like to clean rooms,” she said. “But I’m not sure. It seems a little suspicious.”

Because it was. Kidnapping a witch just to wave around a smudging stick and chant a spell?

“Why such a powerful witch to do a cleansing?” she asked. “I mean, the room is tainted, but any witch could do this.”

“You yourself noted the previous efforts have been worthless. You must understand my need for someone with a bit more skill?”

She bristled proudly, tugging at the ends of her lush hair. On the side of her littlest finger was another tattoo. Words. Probably a spell. Ed didn’t try to read them. One never knew what horrors reciting an unknown spell could unleash upon his head.

“Ask me something,” he volleyed.

“What do you mean?”

“Something you want to know about demons. It’s a trade for your trust.”

“Oh.” She wiggled her shoulders. The excitement that she exuded was like a natural pheromone, so effortless and addictive. He breathed her in as if he were the lucky observer of an exotic flower who only put off her scent a few minutes a day before closing up. “Okay. Let’s see... I know you’re a corax demon. Can you shift to a raven form?”

“I shift to a conspiracy of ravens.”

“Oooo.” When she made that sound, she pursed her lips deliciously. Ed squeezed his hands together behind his back. “Can I see your horns?”

“No!”

“But those nubs at your temples. That’s where they come out?”

He nodded. They grew to full length when he was angry. Or sometimes when he was aroused. He couldn’t control the anger horns, but the other time, when he was having sex, was an option he employed if he wanted to heighten the experience. Because to have his horns touched? Oh, baby. Yet, sadly, he’d attempted it only once before. She’d run screaming. He’d learned his lesson about what to reveal about himself when having sex with a human woman.

She pointed to his gloved hands. “Why do you wear those? More horns?”

Actually, thorns. The thorns on his knuckles grew when he got angry, and they were deadly sharp, leaving a poison in his victim’s cuts that could kill. The half gloves were a safety precaution because he didn’t like to kill people. Not unless they deserved it.

“Forget it,” she said suddenly. “I have to leave this room. I’m not properly warded and this malefic aura is creeping me out.”

“Fine. Can you return later to cleanse it?”

“I can,” she said, walking backward toward the door. “If you promise we’ll talk afterward.”

“Research and a cleansing? It’s a date.”

“It is?”

“Uh, er...a business date. I mean, you know. Why else would I have you brought here?”

“Did you request me specifically or did those idiots grab any witch off the street?”

They had grabbed a witch John Malcolm had deemed most powerful. Lucky for him it had been the one witch he wouldn’t mind spending some time with.

“Does it matter? I’ve stated my need. You’ve agreed to meet that need, as I in turn will meet yours by answering your questions. We are in accord.”

“Sure.” She nodded and gestured toward the door behind her. “Can I leave now?”

“Of course. You’re not my prisoner.”

“Will I run into your henchmen on the way out?”

“No. I promise. And again, I apologize.”

“I’m not one to hold a grudge. I forgive you for your odd means to hiring a witch to clean this office. Thank you, Ed. I’ll return later. Ten?”

“Sounds fine. I’ll be here. Alone.”

She raised a curious brow.

“No henchman,” he reassured her.

With a nod and wink, she left him standing there, watching her retreat. That sexy swing of hips and the brush of her long hair across her elbows was like poetry. A raunchy poem with a lascivious plot.

When she had turned the corner toward the elevator, Ed let out a low whistle. “Now to win her trust,” he muttered. “And destroy some dead witches.”

Chapter 5

Tamatha fixed her hair in the mirror and touched up with a little pencil to her right brow. Her hair was naturally white with silver tones, but she liked to soften her darker brows with gray pencil. A smooth of powder across her forehead and a touch of pale pink rouge to her cheeks. She never wore lipstick. Just a little lip balm. Because what man wanted to kiss a woman with greasy red lips?

And she’d already got two—no, three—kisses from Ed. A man who fascinated her as much as he disturbed her. Because he had sent minions to kidnap her! But then he’d kissed her. And then he’d acted nervous and kind of shy, so she could hardly blame him for the rough stuff. She could certainly blame the minions. But not Ed. Right?

She, the most powerful witch in Paris? Hardly. Certainly there were many witches more powerful. While she had mastered all four elements, she was sadly lacking in the various -mancys and study of specific magics. Perhaps only a warlock or thousand-year-old witch might be so powerful. But if she had copped to the truth, he would have tossed her out in search of the real deal. And by all means, she wanted to work with him.

To learn about demons, of course.

It wouldn’t be because she found him handsome and was intrigued by his many tattoos and didn’t want to end what his hot kisses had only begun.

Maybe a little.

“I have a date with a demon,” she said as she spun into the bedroom to check her closet for an appropriate dress. Something sexy and yet it was a business date, so no lace and nothing too low cut. But always body-hugging.

“A date with a demon who kidnapped me,” she corrected herself, her enthusiasm wilting as her fingers slid over the red silk wiggle dress. “What are you doing, Tamatha?”

“I should ask the same.” Amberlee, a fellow witch friend, had stopped by an hour ago with some fresh rue and megabytes. Amberlee practiced tech magic. She wandered into the bedroom and plopped onto the end of the queen-size bed. Her bright red bob contrasted with her severely arched black brows, but both matched her red-and-black-striped dress. “You’re talking to yourself, mon amie. Or are you working a spell? Am I interrupting?”

“No. Did you get the memory installed on my laptop?”

“Yes. Now you have ten times as much space to ignore on that tech device that always has dust on it.”

“I’m not much for technology. I prefer paper and pen.”

“Then why the upgrade?”

“I do like to store the photos I take with my phone. The laptop serves as an excellent photo album. I’d like to photograph my grimoire someday and keep that safe.”

“Let me know when you do that. Tech magic tends to distort grimoire text. The two magics clash. You won’t know it until it’s too late and your valued grimoire has been completely erased. You’ll need a spell to properly store any information.”

“Good to know.”

Tamatha pulled out the purple velvet dress and held it before her. The fitted fabric would hug her slender frame and accentuate her cleavage with a sweetheart neckline. The black lace collar had skulls worked into the intricate stitching.

“I adore that one,” Amberlee said. “Sensual with a touch of goth. So you’ve seduction in mind?”

“You think it’s too sexy?”

“I’d do you wearing that dress.”

“Yes, well, you’d do me, him and it, so I won’t take that one personally. Who, or what, is your date tonight?”

“A werewolf from pack Conquerier. Sweet guy. Intense sexual appetite. He likes to howl.”

“Nummy.”

“Yeah, I like to howl right along with him. Especially when he hits the sweet spot with his fingers. What about your date?”

“It’s not really a date. I’m going to cleanse an office for a guy. A demon, actually.” She caught her friend’s nod of approval.

“Demons do it devilishly,” Amberlee said. “Or wait. Is this to do with your venture into diabology? Please tell me you don’t intend to simply study this guy.”

“Yes, study is exactly what I had in mind.” She pulled the dress off the hanger. “I have already performed a binding spell on him, and he didn’t hold that against me. Not too much. Maybe a little? I certainly won’t hold the kidnapping against him.”

“The—what? Slow down, Tamatha. I seem to be missing something here. Some demon kidnapped you? And now you’re going on a date with him?”

“Suffice, we had an interesting meeting. And tonight...” She slipped into some high black Louboutin heels with purple tulle bows on the toes. “After the business of cleansing murdered spirits is completed, I want to talk to him. Learn about him. This date is strictly for the purpose of furthering my demonic research.”

Amberlee put up a palm as she shook her head miserably. “You’re killing me, Smalls. You and your work ethic. Please say when such research is concluded then the dress will come off. Maybe show the demon a few of your tattoos?”

“Don’t be silly. I never have sex with a man on the first date. That’s just gauche.”

“What about Love Often?”

“I do. But you don’t expect me to love him after one rather curious meeting, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Besides, I don’t know anything about him beyond that he’s a corax demon—that means he can shift to ravens—and he’s an excellent kisser. And he did have me brought to him, so I can only assume he’s got no hang-ups about the demon-witch thing. Although he does seem to say the word witch with more vitriol than anyone should. Hmm...”

Amberlee rolled her eyes. “You and your adventurous heart. Be careful, Tamatha. And don’t forget your white light before you go.”

“Good call. I wasn’t wearing it when his henchmen kidnapped me this afternoon. Best to go prepared.”

“Henchmen?” Amberlee thrust up her palm. “I won’t ask. I know it’s wild, adventurous and your kind of weirdness. I’m headed home to pack. The wolf is bringing me to the Rhône Valley for the weekend. He owns a castle. If I’m lucky I’ll get to have sex with him fully shifted. Fur and fangs, baby!”

Tamatha did not disguise a shiver as her friend pranced out, en route for some kinky werewolf sex. Getting naked with a man shifted into animal shape was so not her scene. She’d never thought about sex with the familiar in his cat form. But she did like her men interesting.

“And, apparently, with horns,” she said to her reflection.

Unzipping the dress, she stepped into it and pulled it up. Purple velvet seduction? So maybe a little flirting could be allowed. After the business.

* * *

The air held the dry, sweet scent of sage and lavender long after Tamatha had finished the cleansing. She’d focused her energy toward the marble floor and walls where the vibrations of whatever vile act had occurred in this room lingered. Lives had been stolen. More than one. In hideous manner. She didn’t want to know the details. It wasn’t important. The spell captured those remnants, and with the use of her air magic, she sent them through the window and into the ether to dissipate.

Barefoot, she stood up from her kneeling position on the floor in the middle of the salt circle she’d poured earlier. Eyes still closed, she swept her hands over her head and down her body to clear away any negative energy that may have latched on to her. And then, drawing her hands up her body from toes to crown of head, she replaced that sensitive open aura with a white light.

When she opened her eyes, the demon stood three feet away from the line of salt, hands shoved in his black trouser pockets. This evening he wore a gray-striped business shirt without a tie, and the open collar revealed tattoos or sigils that climbed his neck. Sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing yet more black ink in various designs. Gave him a bit of a gangster vibe. Add to that the dark hair parted neatly at his right temple, slicked back with a bit of pomade, and his gray eyes that held a hopeful curiosity, and he took her breath away.

Oh, what another kiss might lure her to do. Like unbuttoning that shirt and running her palms over his chest, which was nicely muscled, because the shirt stretched over some well-honed pectorals.

Of course, that meant he was strong, and she still didn’t know him at all. Would he harm her? She had a tendency to overlook danger. She preferred to see the best in most; the worst only after they’d proved their lacking worth. She had slapped the binding spell on him, so he could still hold some residual anger.

Tamatha shivered, but the sudden rise of insecurity reminded her she’d been in the office alone with him for over an hour and he hadn’t harmed her. And she did wear the white light.

“It’s good,” she said.

“Cleansed?” he asked incredulously, his body leaning forward in expectation.

“Of course. Can’t you feel it?”

Straightening, he spread out his palms, half-covered by the gloves, and looked about the candlelit office. Tamatha had requested only the six white candles provide the lighting while she smudged. Unnatural light would have decreased the spell’s efficacy. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly.” She stepped out of the circle and slid her feet into the pumps.

In the circle remained the extinguished candle, a calcite wand, which aided in clearing negative energy, and her amethyst-hilted athame. She’d collect them before she left. They needed time to rest, and if any residual dark energy remained, the salt would leach it out.

“You’ll have to vacuum the salt later. Give it at least eight hours to allow any remaining dark energies to dissipate.”

“Me and salt...” He mocked a shudder.

“Ah, yes, demons and salt.”

“Not so pretty.”

Well, she wasn’t a maid, but she couldn’t stand for things to be out of order. But she also didn’t intend to stick around all night. He’d have to deal with cleanup duty on his own. “So is that wine for drinking?”

Ed grabbed the bottle from a marble-topped vanity by the wall and from the cupboard underneath pulled out two goblets. “It is. Thought I’d bring out my best Beaujolais if you managed to work your magic.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take information for the cleansing.” She accepted the goblet he handed her. She quickly sipped and averted her eyes from the dark tattoo that crept up under his ear. “No remaining evil in this room now. Unless, of course...”

“Unless I create the evil myself?” he volleyed at her. His eyes had a means of dancing with hers in a challenging yet sensual manner. A defiant smolder. Such a look stirred in her core and tightened her nipples.

She shrugged and resisted falling into that appealing challenge by taking another sip of wine.

“You know, not all demons are evil. We get a bad reputation from media and silly movies.”

“Oh, I know that. Your species is vast and varied. Though, the majority can tend to be nefarious and malefic. I sense you straddle the line between good and evil.”

He didn’t respond, and she followed him to the black leather tufted couch. She sat first, in the middle, and he moved over and sat three feet away from her. Humph. Yes, well, it wasn’t a date. Maybe?

“The same goes for we witches,” she said in an attempt to defend whatever it was about her he wasn’t willing to sit close to. “We’re not all vile. Very few of us are.”

“I’ve grown up listening to faery tales of your sort. You must allow me my ingrained childhood fears.”

“Really? A big strong demon like you feels faint around a little ole witch like me?”

“No one said anything about fainting. I just like to stay on alert when in the presence of...your sort.”

“Yikes. What does it take to win you over? I’ve cleansed your office. I’ve kissed back as good as you’ve given.”

He put up an inquisitive finger. “About those kisses.”

“What about them?” Pressing a palm into the black leather, she leaned a little closer. “Want to try it again?”

“I, uh...” He actually cringed from her, which gave her pause. She sat up straight and tugged at her skirt hem. Really? Those faery tales he’d been told as a child must have been some doozies. Probably featured the classic hag. Oh, how inaccurate they could be. Most of the time.

“You said you wanted to ask me things,” he offered as if tossing the suggestion out to deflect her sudden sway toward romance. “Ask away.”

“Awesome,” she said with little of the enthusiasm she should have.

The man had the weirdest ability to attract her while repelling at the same time. She shouldn’t take it personally. But when one was kissed so well and thoroughly, it was hard to not want more.

Perhaps since they were in his office he assumed a work attitude. Though it was late, she had no idea if a secretary lingered in an office down the hall or even if his henchmen were on the premises. Business it was, then.

Kicking off her shoes, she pulled up her legs and leaned an elbow on the back of the couch so she faced him. On the floor, her shoes righted and snapped into an orderly side-by-side position.

“What the hell?” the demon asked.

“My OCD magic. I like order.”

“And control, as you’ve mentioned. But really?”

“I can’t control it. I used to control it, but eventually the urge to straighten got so strong it took on a life of its own. It works in about a five-foot range.”

“So things snap into order as you walk by?”

She nodded.

“Weird.”

“Really?” Toggling the fragrant wine goblet in her hand, she asked, “Says the corax demon who can shift to raven form.”

“More than one raven—an entire conspiracy. And that’s not weird. It’s genetic.”

“It’s still weird. Does it hurt? How is it controlled?”

“It stings like a mother for two seconds and then I don’t feel anything but the freedom of flight. Multiple times over. When I’m in that form, all the ravens fly in sync and are controlled as one by me. But if I need one part of me to do something, I can break off and fly solo. It’s complicated. Of course, shifting takes a lot out of me. I don’t do it often. Driving usually gets me wherever I need to go.”

“Is that feather on your neck related to ravens?”

He stroked the tattoo, which appeared as soft as a feather and seemed to undulate under his finger as if touched by a breeze. “It is. It’s not a tattoo but a demonic sigil. Unlike a tattoo, the sigils simply appear on my skin. It’s not ink but darker pigmented skin cells. This feather is the top of the complete sigil that stretches the length of my spine. All corax demons sport something similar.”

“That’s fascinating.” She leaned forward but cautioned herself from reaching to touch him. Much as she wanted to nuzzle her nose against his neck and breathe him in, she would not go there. Not when she could sense his need to lean back as she neared him. “Were you born here in the mortal realm or did you come from Daemonia?”

“Mortal realm, born and bred. I have a certain distrust and dislike for those from Daemonia.”

“Why?”

“My opinions are not important to your research, are they? Let’s stick to facts and avoid the personal.” He tilted back the rest of his wine and got up to refill, and then he returned to the couch with the bottle and topped off hers. He remained a good distance from her. Which annoyed her. “Next question.”

Nothing personal? He was protective of himself. Perhaps she’d read too much into his incredible kisses. Way to anticipate a fabulous date night. Not.

Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted details more than she wanted kisses.

Yeah? Tell yourself another lie, Tamatha.

Shaking off the nuisance inner voice, she allowed her eyes to glide about the office to the marble walls and across the windows. The desk and wine cupboard were topped with the same black marble streaked through with silver mica. Above the vanity sat three objects on separate shelves, which had been lit by halogen beams before she’d requested only candlelight.

“Is that an alicorn?” she asked of the object on the center shelf. “If so, I’m stunned.”

“I buy and sell objects of magical nature. And yes, the three items are a genie in a bottle, an alicorn and a bit of angel dust on the third shelf.”

Wow. A genie in a bottle? He’d better not let that loose or he’d be responsible for a world of hurt. The angel dust intrigued. It was terribly expensive to buy at the Witch Bazaar, and she’d never the interest in testing its efficacy. Angel magic was the most powerful of all magics in the mortal realm. But if handled improperly? The witch may wish herself dead as opposed to experiencing the brutal backlash.

But the alicorn continued to draw her interest. Unfortunately, fascination was quickly overwhelmed by a sadness that tugged at her very core.

“There’s so much positive energy leaking from the alicorn now that I’ve cleansed the room.” Her heart shivered. “I could almost cry. Did a unicorn get slain?”

“I’m sure it was taken from a dead unicorn,” Ed offered.

She gasped at his utter lack of concern, or perhaps he simply hadn’t such knowledge. “Unicorns don’t die, Ed. They are immortal. Oh, that’s awful.” She sipped the wine, not wanting to consider the alicorn anymore.

“Back to the questions about me,” Ed said. She suspected it was an attempt to divert her from the alicorn. Good call. Maybe he was more attuned to her feelings than she suspected.

Very well. What else did she want to know, beyond that he could buy an item that had likely been stolen from a living being and had caused it much pain? Don’t think about it! Her eyes strayed to his desk, which harbored only a closed laptop. She had no idea what he did. Buying and selling magical objects? He employed henchmen, as well.

“What do you do, exactly?”

“That’s a faintly personal question.”

“I mean here. In this office. What’s your job? Is it to do with the collection on your wall? Is it related to you being a demon or is it a means to a living?”

He scruffed his fingers over the back of his head. “Let’s say I head an organization dedicated to keeping the peace.”

“That sounds entirely too heroic for—”

“For what? A demon?” He sighed and propped an ankle over his knee, rapping his fingers on the couch arm. “What are you wearing that keeps me at a distance from you? Is it a protection spell?”

“Huh? Oh. But I thought you...”

She thought he’d wanted to keep it all business. But instead he wanted to get closer? The man’s duality was aggravating. Of course, he hadn’t kissed her since she’d arrived. Unfortunately. And did his aggravation over not being able to get close to her have to do with his wanting to kiss her?

And why couldn’t he— Hmm... She hadn’t thought of that. “I always pull on a white light when I do a job. It protects me from any rogue elements or vengeful souls that I may not have control over.”

“And demons?”

“From most breeds, actually,” she said. “You can feel it?”

He tilted his head back on the couch, closed his eyes, then smiled. When he sat upright, he turned to her and touched her hand but retracted quickly as if bitten.

“Sorry,” she offered.

“You must not have had the white light on earlier today when we kissed.”

“I didn’t. Your thugs surprised me and I wasn’t calm enough to call it up.”

“Could I ask you to take it off now?”

The look he gave her melted her insides and made her question if he’d asked her to take off her white light or, instead, her clothing. Yes, please?

She swallowed softly. “Depends.”

“On my reason? I don’t expect you to trust me, Tamatha. Or to feel safe. But I have kissed you, and... I’d like to do it again. But we can’t do that unless I can sit closer to you and feel comfortable. It physically hurts me to be this close to you now. It’s like tiny electric sparks are emanating from your body.”

“Wow. I had no idea my white light was so powerful.” Then again. “Oh, but, you know. Most powerful witch in Paris, here. Of course it’s going to feel like that.”

Whew! Fast save. She had to be careful. He had provided her a reason to keep him in her life; best not shatter that reason.

“If I take it off, will you tell me about those tattoos on your fingers? If that’s not too personal a question.”

“Yes, and it’s a little personal, but some of the sigils on my skin are related to my genealogy.”

Satisfied, she exhaled and then swept a hand over her from head to toe and pronounced, “Exsolvo.” The white light slipped away.

“I felt that. Like prickles skittering over my skin.” He rubbed his forearms, then inhaled a deep breath. “Wow. Now I can smell your perfume. Lemons. I like that. It’s different.”

“I preserve my own lemons. My house always smells like a lemon orchard. It’s a scent my grandmother wore, though I only know that because my mom told me. Grandma Lysia died long before I was born. So, those tats on your fingers?”

“Demonic runes. They are tribal. The history of them goes back centuries, maybe even millennia. They designate me corax and my location and alliances. As well, they provide protection within the demon community and rank me to others.”

“That’s a lot of information from a few crossed lines. Are you in a denizen?”

“Always been a lone demon. I prefer it that way. I, uh, don’t play well with others.”

“You’re playing nicely enough with me.” His smile was a little shy and she liked that he was willing to relax now. “Tell me about those dark marks on your neck.”

He slid closer and pulled aside his collar to expose the design. Tamatha leaned forward only a little. Didn’t want to spook him. “These are demonic sigils that form on my body as I age,” he said. “It’s indicative of many demonic breeds but not all of them. Major life events imprint on my skin. And some are spells and wards.”

“Really? That’s so cool. I didn’t know demons could do that. So a life event? Like what?”

“Anything. Dangerous encounters. Life-changing events. The move to Paris from Italy a decade ago. Defeating Himself’s plans to send a dangerous demon into this realm. Growing into my horns. And I’ve already explained coming into my shifting abilities with the feather.”

She eyed the hematite nubs at his temples and then tapped his gloved knuckles. Ed pulled away.

“Does that hurt when I touch them? I touched the ones on your temples earlier this afternoon when you had me pressed against the wall.”

“I know you did. That touch was...” He blew out a breath laden with what she guessed was repressed lust. “Just take it easy, will you? Should you get cut, the thorns on my knuckles are capable of imbuing poison into your bloodstream, resulting in death. As for the horns on my temples...they are...sensitive.”

“Oh.” She’d take that sensitive as meaning sensually sensitive. Interesting. But she wanted to learn more about the thorns. They were a new bodily enhancement to her. “Poison? So you never take the gloves off?”

He clasped his hands together. “Only when I’m alone.”

“Bummer. Must make for some weird—” She almost said “sex.” Tamatha swallowed the last of her wine awkwardly. “So that mark on your lower neck looks like a scythe, actually.”

“It imprinted after I got my horns. Puberty stuff, like the feather. This here.” He traced his inner wrist, which featured a series of black wavy lines, almost as if a drunken bar code. “Was a fight with a werewolf. I won. And this one is a witch ward.” He tugged up his sleeve to reveal a small, solid black circle on the side of his forearm.

Tamatha smoothed her fingers over the ward. He didn’t flinch. Nor did she. “For or against witches?”

“It was supposed to be a sort of warning alarm should a witch come too close. Apparently, this one is bogus since I’m not feeling so much as a tingle from your touch. I’ll have words with Sayne next time I see the guy.”

“You had an ink witch tattoo you with a ward against witches? Doesn’t that sound a trifle ironic? I mean, did you really expect it to work? It came from a witch.”