The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

I smiled at him, tilting my head to the side as I began circling the creature, forcing Charl to halt his own perusal. This time the cat hissed, baring its canines.

“Do you have a task for me, daughter of des Montagnes?”

The hiss and snap of his jaws served as enough of a reminder that the creature before me was deadly, and that it was my blood and the markings in the soil alone that confined him to this plane.

“Your task is to educate these lovely humans about your kind.”

His jaw snapped loudly in defiance, and I watched in satisfaction as he lifted himself onto his back haunches. I felt the crowd pull away from the circle - away from me, but I knew that they were safe, and that the Demon was bound by my summons to do my bidding.

I fell asleep, the memory of my time at Summer Camp firmly morphing into a dream, only this time when I summoned the Demon, a cat did not appear within the circle. Instead, I was met with emerald green eyes, a strong jawline, and dark hair.

***

As the sunlight filtered into my room, I felt the normalcy of country life. How easy would it be to slip back into this quiet living? To slide back into the roles I had once cherished? I pushed the bed sheets off of my naked flesh, willing those traitorous thoughts to flit straight out the goddamn window before finally dressing and facing what the day had in store for me.

The stairs creaked as I climbed down them, the smell of coffee and freshly baked croissants filling the Inn, making me suddenly aware that I was hungry. When was the last time I ate?

The last thought dissipated instantaneously because seated at one of the dark wooden tables was the Demon I couldn’t seem to shake, with two cups of coffee and a tray of croissants. He smiled, and even that gesture of friendliness sent a jolt of heat to my stomach, forcing me to clench my thighs in frustration.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out as a hiss as my feet dragged towards him, drawn in by the scent of coffee.

It wasn’t fair that he was so good looking, even the woman at the bar kept casting furtive glances in our direction, and this time I knew that it wasn’t because I was the granddaughter of Jeanne des Montagnes.

“You look good in black, little Witch.” Black was the custom for mourning, and if I followed traditions like I was supposed to, I’d be wearing black for at least a year - in remembrance of the woman who raised me.

I seated myself across from him, my fingers dipping into the soft pastry of the croissant, still warm to the touch, and I didn’t miss the Demon’s gaze hover over my chest - at the black threaded rope that criss-crossed over my cleavage, gaping slightly. Once the message came through that my grandmother had died, I threw all the black items clothing I had in a bag and rushed here. Not all of my clothing was appropriate for mourning or a funeral, and yet I found satisfaction in that small act of rebellion.

“You’ll find I look good in most things, Demon.” I spoke around the first bite of the croissant, fighting the urge to moan at the buttery flavor that sparked across my tongue.

He grinned at me, and for the first time since meeting him, his smile didn’t seem laced in frustration, challenge, or sarcasm - he seemed almost friendly.

Which was a dangerous thought to have when it came to the Demon.

Before the conversation could continue any further, the sound of two sets of heavy footsteps notified us of some new arrivals. The barkeep greeted them in a friendly manner, indicating that they were locals, but it didn’t prepare me for who stood behind me in the doorway.

I turned, suddenly faced with my past as Julian and his childhood friend Denis glared at me, seemingly having breakfast with another man.

It seemed that fortune favored the foolish, and so I raised my croissant in greeting and smiled. Let them think I was allowing myself to be entertained by the charms of another man. I doubted anyone here would see Cortland for what he truly was.

Julian’s gaze burned with fury as if the notion of me dining with someone else was an affront to him personally. He hadn't changed.

“Bonjour.” The Demon greeted the men, and I watched the gleam in his eye as he understood the ramifications of this meeting - of what Julian and Denis thought we were.

Julian clenched and unclenched his jaw, marching towards the table in three giant strides, ignoring Cortland entirely.

“We need to talk, Marie.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand, one that I had no interest in adhering to, and so I simply raised a brow at him in response. Julian was about to discover that I was vastly different to the girl he once knew - I supposed I should be thanking him.

“We have nothing to talk about.” I turned away from him, giving the Demon seated across from me my full attention, and when Cortland stretched his hand across the dark wooden surface, threading his fingers through mine, I couldn’t pull away - not with Julian’s gaze on me.

Tingles spread from the tips of my fingers where our hands connected, unbidden images of a naked Cortland and I rolling around on the bed upstairs, our bodies connected in the most visceral fashion, and I knew that he was unfurling his power against me, allowing my own achy need to rise up in his presence.

I squeezed his hand. Hard, an attempt to halt his power, but the Demon only grinned, and that gesture somehow made me blush.

“Other clans are coming here to pay their respects - to offer you their sympathies.” Julian’s words were broken and brittle.

“Well,” I answered, my voice sounding breathier than I had intended, the Demon’s proximity affecting me far too much for my liking. “I guess I will see them at the funeral then. I mean, I am allowed to attend the funeral, aren’t I?”

I was certain I could hear Julian’s teeth grind from where I sat. Denis stood quietly, having absolutely nothing to offer in this setting - Julian probably simply brought him along as backup, or emotional support.