Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

“Then what, Lou?”

I close my eyes. How could I explain it in a way she could understand?

“A human weakness. One I can’t convey in a way I’d feel you’d understand. Some is personal. Only meant to be kept between he and I—”

“You can’t even say his name.” The disgust dripping from every word stings. Saying his name out loud makes our bond hum. It makes it harder to keep the barrier I’ve placed between us solid. To her it would be silly, fighting the inevitable. To me, it’s the ultimate act of rebellion and resistance. I’m fanning the last dying embers of independence before the coals go cold and the flame is extinguished completely.

“You may not like my choices, but they were mine to make. When and where, Luz?”

Her nostrils flare. “Tonight at plantation park. If you don’t show up, he will find you.” The historic site is full of abandoned wooden homes that once belonged to my ancestors, slaves who were freed and started their own community.

It’s neutral ground. There his powers will be lessened, and I have a backup. His consideration infuriates me. I don’t want his kindness when I have none in my heart toward him to reciprocate. It makes me look petty while he maintains that cool aloofness that gives me the urge to break dishes and fling him across the room with my powers. Now I actually could. In joining us, he’d given me equal footing. Suddenly I’m looking forward to our meeting.

“He also gave me one last thing to give to you.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a white linen handkerchief. Unfolding the square she reveals a Posy ring with a knot motif. My heart races as she sets the priceless item on the counter.

The intricate knots woven together symbolize endless love. The pattern stands out against the gold in it’s purest form. From the fifteenth century, the ring was once given to me as a promise.

“The unbelievable bastard.”

Luz is gone, and Cristobal has thrown down the gauntlet.

Chapter Four

If I was stronger, I’d dial it in and wear the rattiest clothing I own. But I’m petty, and I know the bastard will be dressed to the nines in some sickeningly fashionable designer number. What do you wear when you’re meeting the ex from hell? Some would say literally. A skin-tight pair of jeans, shit kickers, and an off-the-shoulder fitted black top. My corset has the girls strapped in for the long ride, yet has enough give for me to maneuver.

Studying my reflection, I roll on black lipstick. I flex my fingers as I take in the hair I’ve slicked back from my face. The ring is cool against my skin. He has me over a barrel. If I don’t wear it I’ll look weak and unwilling to move forward. If I do, he’ll see how epically I failed at purging him from my heart.

I find no trace of the devastated girl who left with her tail between her legs in my reflection. I nod my approval and do a slight glamour to keep everything in place. What’s magic for, if you can’t help yourself out a little? I slip from the basement dreaming of the day my home will be ready for move in. Two more weeks. I grab my black purse, sling it over my shoulder, and set out to face my demons.

I make my way across the grass, drawing strength and calm from the oak trees covered in Spanish Moss. Brushing the tree bark, I feel the faint stirrings of the men and women who came to Louisiana before me from Africa. Their presence is a reassuring hum in the background as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

He’s not here yet, but I can feel him coming closer at top speed. My legs weaken as I move toward the nearest cabin and sink down on the porch. My mouth is the Sahara, and my head is light. I swallow repeatedly and breathe deeply to calm my racing heart. The sweet smell of night blooming jasmine and cedar trees blend, grounding me.

I spot his form on the outskirts. Tall and lithe. Though I loathe to admit it, my night vision is better than a human’s. Energy crackles on my fingertips. Bright green sparks break the inky blackness of night. My stomach sours. Being in the same space works as an amplifier for us. I’m manifesting new powers. He’s turned me into something foreign. Physical manifestation of magic is rare and left to the most powerful.

I curl my hands into fists. He foresaw this all those years ago in that graveyard. He recognized the potential the two of us could create together. My chest aches. Some wounds cut too deep to ever fully heal. Anger pools in my belly. I wanted love. I got lies and manipulation instead.

A pulsing ball of energy forms in front of me. I’m hypnotized by the technic-color glow. How could this come from me?

I shake under the strain of maintaining it. What was created in anger is burning off my reserves.

“Let. It. Go.”

The command given in a dulcet tone snaps my hold on the newly discovered power. The ball hurtles toward him. I rescind the magic, knowing the backlash of the abrupt interruption of signal flow is going to be a bitch. Lifted off my feet by a form of magical feedback, I’m pitched back violently. My stomach drops, and then I’m caught in a strong pair of arms. The gravity of seeing him in person so close up presses down on me as I drown in his chocolate-colored gaze. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

All thought flees as my barriers buckle like the compromised hull of a ship. High, well-sculpted cheekbones lead down to a strong, diamond-shaped jaw rounded out by a dimpled chin. His button nose gives an eternal boyish quality to his rugged good lucks. He swallows, and my gaze is drawn to his throat as my mind is worked over by years of memories.

We’re exchanging information like two computers updating. He cups my face. “Louella.” I twitch as I ride the wave of power being exchanged between us.

“Cristobal,” I force his name out from between my clenched teeth. This isn’t the way I wanted our encounter to go, but when have I ever held the upper hand? He’s not the vampire I once knew. His power has increased three-fold and wraps around him like an invisible shield. Master. The politics between us have just changed. In a span of moments, I see the rise of his new empire, expansion of his court, and the responsibilities that have been placed on him. Lord of several cities up until New Orleans, he’s known for being fair, and ruthless when necessary.

Regrouped, I pull back, breaking the intense eye-lock and lessening the connection. I pull away from him, eager for space. He stands, and straightens his black hand-stitched Italian suit. It’s not lost on me that he’s wearing the Obsidian cufflinks I once charmed and gifted him for extra protection. He holds out his hand. I stare at the appendage.

“Have things become so bad between us you won’t accept my help?”

I grasp his hand and allow him to help me rise on shaky legs. The sincerity in his voice slices through my walls. I take a deep breath. The intense rage has dissipated, leaving behind raw emotions I’ve y

et to deal with fully. The thing about running is it only holds off the inevitable.