The High Priestess (The Tarot Club 3)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THERE IS NO ESCAPE

CORT

I watched the Witch collect herself, pulling her skirts down as she straightened her bodice that had tugged down slightly, exposing those enticing nipples. I loathed so many things about the creation of humanity, but the female body was not one of them. She was living art, and suddenly I itched to ingrain her image using paper and oils for all eternity. For there she stood, atop the newly turned earth of her grandmother’s grave, her hair mussed, her lips bruised from my administrations and her clothing disheveled with nothing but the moonlight to highlight her magnificent features.

She seemed only half-real, as if she were a non-corporeal figure herself, but I had felt her inner walls clutch and grip me in a way that had me stuttering, clawing to simultaneously go harder and slow down, which meant that her flesh was as corporal as mine.

Her eyes were that magnificent blue color, still clouded with the afterglow of passion, and for once she looked at me with something other than distrust.

Humans could be idiotic in their post-orgasmic bliss.

But that ludicroucy seemed to only last half a heartbeat, because just as quickly as that soft look had crested upon her face, so it was replaced by her narrowed gaze whilst she scowled at me.

I side stepped the turned soil, seating myself on the grassy strip between her mother’s and her grandmother’s headstones.

“What are you doing?” Did the little Witch know that she gave away too much with that question? That I could tell she was flustered in my presence? It seemed that if we weren’t fighting, and we weren’t fucking, she didn’t know what to do with me. Perhaps she’d stab me once more simply in a bid to even the playing field.

My cock twitched beneath my trousers just at the thought of her with a knife in hand.

“You walked in here with an apple.” I shrugged, sliding against the side of the headstone, resting my back more comfortably as I stretched out my legs, crossing them at the ankle before me. “I assume you have a spell that you need the fruit for. I’m here to watch.”

Her gaze hardened even more as she realized that I was deathly serious. But there was something about the Witch that intrigued me - that made me want to watch her work, see her mind spin and puzzle out solutions.

She could quite easily become an addiction, and an addiction to a Demon often equated in death. The only question was: whose death.

“Leave.” She seethed, and as I stared into her fury my own rage didn’t rise in response, instead I simply snorted.

“That’s no way to treat your lover. No wonder your marriage didn’t work out.” I schooled my expression, ensuring that no sliver of a smile could be seen as I watched the Witch become a hurricane before me.

She swept forward, her sticky thighs long forgotten as she swung her fist toward my face in a combative way that could drop most men. I moved away with only a millisecond to spare and that’s when she screamed, swinging at me a second time.

I sidestepped her fury, which only seemed to incite her more and this time I couldn't stop the smile from cresting my lips, as the Witch lunged for me.

Apart from those self-proclaimed Demon Hunters, few over the centuries truly challenged me, instead summoning me for trinkets and prizes that didn't hold any true value.

But fighting with the Witch was a dance, one I battled to control, with my pulse thrumming in excitement as my blood heated once more with my fight or fuck response.

I circled around the tombstone, allowing the marble block to shield me, but Marie simply hoisted herself over it, catching me with her nails along my jaw. The warmth of the sting told me I was bleeding and this time I pushed forward, becoming the aggressor.

"Don't tease me Little Witch, you drawing my blood excites me and we both know that you aren't ready for another round in this graveyard."

She screeched a sharp, harrowing sound that vibrated against my eardrums, throwing herself at me in a clash of claws and blood.

If I had expected her to retreat at the sight of my bloodlust, once more she proved to me exactly how I had underestimated her.

"Just leave." She panted the words, her voice shaking with rage. "You've been a sickening nuisance since I met you at the River bank, dabbling in Witch's business as if it were your right."

She jabbed at my ribs, and I caught her wrist just in time, applying the right amount of pressure as I watched her wince.

"Just because you know Charl, doesn't mean you are welcome here."

"Oh little Witch, you made me welcome the minute your breath touched mine. This has nothing to do with Charl and everything to do with alliances, and the minute you start understanding that, the easier this whole thing will be."

"And I suppose you're the alliance I should be grateful for." She swung at me with her free hand, speaking the words through clenched teeth as I sidestepped her attempt, whilst putting even more pressure on her wrist. Her pulse fluttered beneath my touch, and even when she was raging at me, she still wanted me.

"I am not your alliance, I am your demise."

I offered her that kindness, lest the little Witch thought that our couplings were anything more than a passing dalliance.