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It was agony to end the kiss. Addai managed it only by telling himself that soon she’d be home, naked in the place he’d had built for them.
She would know the truth of what she was to him then. Wife. Mate.
His in every way.
Only his.
“You want proof,” he said, forced to pragmatism by the presence of so many witnesses. Returning to her earlier question so they could get done with this business of looking for her missing charge rather than waste time doing battle over it. “Ask me something about the Tucci, something only a human well acquainted with them would know.”
“Name the youngest, and the most recently transformed vampire of the Tucci line.”
Addai laughed. “Ah, a trick question given the majority of scions die during their transformation and a great number of those passed off as Tucci descendants are favored humans with no genetic link. To hedge my bets I’ll give you three names to prove I know the different ways your question might be answered. Demas is the most recent addition to the Tucci family, though he is not a true descendant regardless of claims to the contrary. Euan is related by blood and the youngest if measured in total years of existence, while Ilario, who survived the change five years ago, is older chronologically but the most recently transformed vampire bearing Tucci genes. Satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then let’s be on our way. What did you intend after leaving here?”
“To go to Oakland. That’s where I believe Corinne is. If I can find out who made the token hiding her from the Tuccis, it might lead me to her. The clerk suggested I visit the Wainwright witches for answers. They’re my first stop.”
“Excellent,” Addai said, pleasure purring through him at the mention of an ally powerful enough to speed this nuisance business of a missing vampire scion to its conclusion.
Sajia escaped Addai’s arms and hurried toward the car she’d taken from the Tucci estate, and Mario, the driver who was both friend and family member. With each step she told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted or delayed. But even as she hastened to put as much distance as possible between herself and Addai, traitorous heat curled through her with the remembered imprint of his body to hers and the intensity of the desire that had poured into her with his touch.
Mario stood next to the back door, waiting to open it for her. He was stiffly formal in his uniform, the lines of his face smooth in an attempt to avoid any expression, though she saw the worry in his eyes. Guessed he recognized Addai and wanted to warn her against involvement with him—not just for her sake, but for all of theirs.
If not for Addai, she would have opened the door for herself and climbed into the front seat. Mario’s sister was married to one of her cousins, and expecting a child.
Sajia got into the back, Addai sliding in next to her, crowding her, making it difficult to think about anything else but him. Any lingering doubt about his belonging to the Tuccis was banished by how quickly Mario obeyed Addai’s command, delivering them to the area set aside for the gifted then departing afterward rather than wait.
At first sight of the witches’ home Sajia nearly balked at going any farther. It sat squat and dark, windows glistening as the sunlight struck them, like malevolent eyes looking out on the world. The hair rose on her arms and neck, and she wondered if she’d feel the same nearly unbearable sensations that she had experienced when she entered the occult shop.
Her mouth went dry. The clerk’s words about the cost of dealing with the witches whispered through her mind in ominous warning.
Looking at their house, the sigil-inscribed doorway with its gargoyle-head knocker, the wrought iron fence with its etched warnings, she could well believe anything to be found here entailed a great deal of peril. Danger not just in the form of death, but to the soul.
She glanced at the man next to her. Addai. His name resonated through her in a way that made no sense, as if some part of her recognized him and was determined to have him, regardless of the turmoil, the uncertainty caused by Corinne’s disappearance.
A shiver slid through Sajia, and it had nothing to do with the prospect of entering a place where magic was practiced. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her shirt, and her channel clenched in hungry need.
She was no virgin, but she’d never had a lover like him. A man who would make the most physically attractive of the vampires appear plain, and the most powerful of them seem less than equal.
Confidence poured off Addai along with waves of heated sensuality. It seemed inconceivable that another vampire family, especially the Tassone, hadn’t claimed him first with promises of immense power and wealth and immortality.
She shied away from thinking about him risking the transition and not surviving it. He turned then, sensing her eyes on him. His smile sent her heart tripping. His gaze as it moved over her face in slow appreciation then downward to her breasts, had her struggling to breathe normally.
He laughed, a husky erotic sound that wound its way through her. Leaning in, he said, “There is nothing about you that escapes my notice. It pleases me to know you are as aroused in my presence as I am in yours.”
Sajia forced her attention back to the witches’ house, angry at herself for being distracted by him, for thinking about anything other than finding Corinne. For all she knew Addai had been sent to test both her resolve and her loyalty to her charge, to report back how diligently she carried out her responsibility, perhaps even to suggest to what extent she should suffer for her failures.
She took a step forward, determined to succeed. Closed her mind to worries about what the witches might ask in return for their aid.
Addai’s hand curled possessively around her upper arm. “No harm will come to you here,” he said, swinging open the gate and ushering her through the opening.
Stepping into the witches’ territory was like pushing through an unseen curtain of gossamer. It left the impression of clinging, invisible strands and made Sajia want to brush herself off.
At the door, Addai lifted the knocker, a brass ring held in the mouth of a gargoyle. Only a moment passed before his summons was answered by a handsome woman with a streak of silver along the part of black hair.
“Addai,” the witch said, and Sajia felt a surge of hope and relief. She wondered then if he’d been sent because The Master guessed this search would ultimately involve the Wainwright witches, and saved face by sending aid without the others knowing of it, since she had no power to negotiate on behalf of the Tuccis.
