Page 37 of Rogue Witch

To my surprise, instead of heading toward the bridge leading to Manhattan, Hazel exits onto I-278, headed for Staten Island. We cross the Verrazano bridge and, fifteen minutes later turn onto a private drive. She continues through an open gate leading to a stone mansion overlooking the bay. To the right, on a flattened hill, is located a pool, a long table and chairs, a large barbeque pit and a pool house. Even what little I can see, the house must sit on at least three acres with lots of trees and privacy. Perfect for Zidruhin rituals.

We exit the car and we hurry up a dozen steps to the home’s large oak door. She unlocks the door and backs me into a spacious foyer. A small smile curves her full lips upward as she slips off her coat and tosses it onto a chair near the door.

She grasps my hand and walks backwards three steps. “Would you like a drink?”

“Of course.” I follow her past a circular staircase that winds upward to an open hallway with two visible open doors before the open hallway disappears from view.

I follow her into a parlor and we continue through another short hallway into a room with a bar that stretches across a mirrored wall. At least a hundred different bottles of liquor line three shelves against the mirror. A fire burns in a large stone hearth on the wall to the right of the bar. A chocolate brown leather couch sits in front of the hearth.

“Vodka?” She continues around and behind the bar.

I smile. “You were paying attention.

“To you?” She arches a brow. “I’m sure you’re used to attention.”

I drop onto one of the stools at the bar. She pulls a bottle from the back row of bottles and shows it to me.

I whistle. “Jewel of Russia Ultra Limited Edition. Very nice.”

“I thought you’d like it.” She pours two tumblers, neat, and slides one of the glasses toward me.

I pick up my glass. “To…wild nights,” I say, and we click glasses.

She locks gazes with me and takes a healthy sip. I do the same while wondering how I can distract her and slip some of the sedative into her drink. I’m betting she’s got a hidden room or basement for Zidruhin rituals and spellcasting.

“How about some music?” Hazel reaches beneath the bar and a similar techno beat like the one at the rave blasts—though not as loud.

She finishes the drink in a flourish. I follow suit and reach for the bottle.

“Forget that,” she says in a loud voice, and rounds the bar.

When she reaches me, she kicks off her shoes, then throws her arms around my neck and gives me a slow, warm kiss clearly meant to drive me mad with lust.

Hazel breaks the kiss, then grabs me by the lapels and pulls me to my feet. She walks backward, leading me, I realize, to the couch. Bollocks. She intends to have sex here and now. Even if Leilah hadn’t returned, I wouldn’t follow through with this woman. There’s been a great deal of speculation—by me as much as any other Margiddian—on the possible negative effects of mating with someone infected by Shadows. We’re not certain the Zidruhin are infected with Shadows. In truth, we can’t be certain infected Margiddians don’t still walk amongst us. We assume, they do.

The one thing we do know is the negative effect of a child born to an infected parent. There’s not a condom in the world secure enough for me to risk fathering a child with this woman. So how will I get out of this—and get a look around?

We round the couch and she twists so that I fall onto the leather cushions with her on top. She straddles my hips and grinds herself against my cock. The woman is a skilled seductress. If anything were to give me away as a spy, it won’t be a flaccid cock. I grasp her waist and steady her as she throws her head back and rocks against me in rhythm with the music. She seems to have a penchant for dry humping. Perhaps I’ll get away with—

The press of a gun barrel against the top of my head is followed by a second individual stepping into my line of sight at the edge of the couch. The man points a nine millimeter luger at me. So that’s why Hazel turned on the music. She wanted to be certain I didn’t hear her friends’ approach. Clever girl. The second man edges around the bar, reaches down, and the music cuts off.

Hazel halts and snaps open her eyes. She looks at whoever has the gun barrel against my head, then twists and looks over her shoulder at the man still pointing his gun at me as he walks around the counter.

“You could have waited a few more minutes,” she said.

“Find someone else to fuck,” the man pointing the nine millimeter says.

Hazel looks down at me and tilts her head to one side. “I bet you’re fantastic in bed.”

“I guess you’ll never know,” I say.

“If you like an audience….”

I grunt. “Love, I doubt even I could perform with two guns pointed at me.”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Think of the danger. Doesn’t that turn you on?”

I lift a brow. “Knowing I will likely be shot when we’re finished? Not a big turn on.”