Sylvia Day - Spellbound

He smiled. “Relax. It won’t last long.”

The pain hit her heart and she cried out, her muscles seizing. Then she mercifully lost consciousness.

The moment Max materialized in Jezebel’s home, he shoved her away from him, his palms burning from the touch of her skin. She was feverishly hot, her eyes wild. The deep gash by her shoulder from Victoria’s strike didn’t seem to register at all. And the curve of her lips was so crazed it gave him chills.

He waved a hand to clothe her in a robe.

“Max.” She shook her head. “You didn’t used to be this uptight. Clearly your Familiar isn’t keeping you happy.”

“You don’t want to make an enemy out of me, Jezebel,” he warned. “I suggest you think of me as a fond memory and stay the hell away.”

“But we’re drawn to each other! I know you feel it, too.” She stepped closer, her hand extended as if to touch him.

And he did feel it. Enough to take a sharply indrawn breath. The call of like to like was strong, but it wasn’t sexual. It was magical.

He met her halfway and yanked aside the material covering her wound. The motion bared her breast and made her gasp with excitement, but his attention was solely on the gash in her flesh that didn’t bleed and was dark not because it was cauterized but because her blood was tainted.

“When did he get to you?” he demanded. “What did he do to you?”

Her hands slid up his chest. “I’m more interested in what you’re going to do to me,” she crooned.

Catching her wandering hands, he bridged the distance to the High Council. He took her directly to the antechamber outside the receiving hall. The room was crowded, as usual, and his sudden appearance with the half-naked Jezebel brought conversation and movement grinding to a halt.

The crowd of warlocks and witches parted for him as he strode forward to the desk where requests for an audience were logged, his hand at Jezebel’s elbow driving her forward.

“She’s been compromised by Xander Barnes,” he said coldly. “She’ll need treatment and rehabilitation.”

He released her and moved to turn away.

“The Council will want to question you,” the clerk said quickly.

“I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t there.” Abruptly, Max recoiled, lurching back as white-hot agony pierced his chest like a blade. He felt a scream reverberate inside him and his blood ran cold.

“Victoria,” he breathed, panic tearing through him.

Distracted and caught off guard, he’d left her alone and unprotected. He surged forward, transferring in midstep. It was like swimming in honey, his magic siphoning away from him with every beat of his heart. He tumbled back into his living room endless moments later, landing on his hands and knees in a mess of broken glass, disoriented and dazed.

Black leather heeled boots appeared in his vision, drawing his eye upward along mile-long legs capped with tight black shorts and a leather bustier. Victoria set her hands on her hips, her red-stained lips curving in a humorless smile. The emerald of her kohl-rimmed eyes was as dark as her aura.

“Now this,” she purred, “is exactly how I want you.”

He’s taming you. And you’re letting him.

Victoria watched Max push to his feet in a powerfully graceful movement, his stormy eyes assessing her. She knew he was wondering how to get the upper hand, but she wasn’t open to playing those games anymore. She was more powerful than he was now and it was time he acknowledged it. The inequality in their relationship—if they were going to have one—had shifted in her favor.

You have magic of your own, but he doesn’t respect it.

“Victoria . . . ”

She saw blood on his hands from the shattered window glass. Absently, she healed the cuts with a spell she’d never used before but inexplicably knew by heart.

You’ve made him more powerful than ever and how does he repay you? By subjugating you and making you subservient.

Her hand whipped out and caught his tie, and a moment later they were back in his loft.

His chest lifted and fell on a deep breath. “What did he do to you, kitten?” he asked softly.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Max,” she said, licking her lips at all the prospects his toy collection presented. If he really loved you, he’d let you both play. “I want to play.”

“Do you?” He caught her face in his hands, studying her. “You can fight it off, sweetheart. Let me help you.”

“You can help me now,” she said, parroting what he’d said to her earlier. Why should he get to have all the fun? “I’ve wanted you tied to a bed since the first night we met.”

“That’s not how things work, Victoria. Not between warlock and Familiar, and certainly not between us. This isn’t you talking.”

“But it is!” She wrenched away from him. You should listen to your instincts, Victoria St. John, they’re telling you what you already know. “You’ve been trying to change me since we met. You want me to be something I’m not!”

His jaw tightened. “We’ve been together almost two years. You don’t strike me as the type of woman to put up with a man that long if he wasn’t pleasing you.”

“That was before.” Remember who you were before Westin hunted you down. Remember the power you had. The High Council let Darius Whitacre die. Did you ever make them pay for that? Have you used Westin the way he’s used you?

“Before what?”

“Before I saw what you really want!” She turned her back to him. “Jezebel was a real eye-opener for me.”

Max could picture his kitten’s tail swishing restlessly. He didn’t have to picture the darkness of her aura; he could almost taste it in the air. “I want you.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, as sly as a cat. “You can have me . . . if you’re a good boy, Max.”

He changed tactics. “All right. Let’s catch up with Xander Barnes first. We deal with him, then we’ve got all the time in the world.”

Tossing her head back, she laughed and walked toward the wall displaying his selection of floggers and crops. “Now you want me to hunt with you? After I practically begged you?”

Max shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated by his own contribution to the disaster he faced. He’d left Victoria wide open magically, physically, and emotionally. Even when they’d first met, they’d never been this far apart. He couldn’t stand it.

He also couldn’t let it affect his judgment. Hunters who allowed emotion to overrule reason were doomed to failure and he couldn’t fail in this.

“I make mistakes, Victoria,” he conceded. “In this case, I underestimated how much I need your help. And I underestimated Powell.”

She walked to the chest of drawers where he kept the toys he put inside her. “Don’t blame our problems on your hunt.”

“I seem to have lost something in translation, then. Why don’t you remind me what happened today? What’s the last thing you remember before I came home?”

“I remember your mistress making herself at home in my house! Wearing a damned collar with your name on it!”

“And how did you get from that to where we are now?” With her dressed in an over-the-top dominatrix outfit he hadn’t known she owned. Then again, he hadn’t bothered researching how things had gone with her and the Hunters previously assigned to collar her.

But even jealousy couldn’t make his dick stop throbbing as he looked at her. Despite everything that had gone wrong—or maybe because of it and his desperate need to reconnect—he was achingly attracted to this new side of her.

She pulled a glass dildo out of a drawer and ran her fingers up and down the length of it. Then she lifted it to her lips and licked the tip. Max bit back a groan.

“I realized I should start out the way I mean to go on,” she said, looking at him from beneath spiked lashes. “Relationships go both ways, Max.”

“I’ve given you everything I’ve got.” He reached out with his magic and slammed into the wall of power radiating off her. She was siphoning from him by the moment, an irrefutable sign that she’d been tainted by black magic. “And I’ll keep giving it until I draw my last breath.”

“Everything except your submission.”

“I’m not a switch, kitten.”

Her foot tapped a rapid staccato against the cement. “Maybe I am. Does that mean we’re incompatible?”

“You didn’t think so an hour ago.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, then disappeared, winking away before his eyes.

“Victoria!” he shouted, his fists clenching.

It was diabolically clever what Barnes had done, taking away Max’s anchor while she was still breathing. Death would’ve been more merciful than losing her to black magic. And he couldn’t take her to the Council as he had Jezebel, not just because he was weakened to a dangerously low state, but because he feared they would vanquish her to mitigate any threat he might be perceived to be.

He racked his mind for options, trying to narrow down what spells Barnes might have used to turn Jezebel and Victoria.

“Blood magic,” he muttered, knowing how powerful it could be.

But only as long as Barnes was alive.

Is Westin really the right man for you? Or is there someone out there who would suit you better?

Victoria hit the clubs. Restless and driven by urges she couldn’t fight, she prowled the city searching for something she couldn’t put her finger on. It irritated her that she felt the need to return to Max. A driving, spurring need. She’d never felt so torn before, as if she was warring with herself.

“Looks like you’re in the mood to play, gorgeous.”

She turned her head toward the man speaking to her. He was tall and fit, sandy-haired and mischievous-eyed. Her gaze raked him from head to toe, as did her magic. He was human.

Her mouth curved, her thoughts turning to how much fun it would be to dominate such a strapping male. It had been far too long since she’d been allowed to take the reins.

“Are you in the mood to play?” she purred.

“Always. Can I buy you a drink?”

She shook her head, debating where to take him. Max’s place would be ideal, but she ruled it out. Her apartment was an option, especially since Max had seen fit to take his ex-mistress there. But an unwelcome and unwarranted stab of guilt held her back.

Damn it.

“Let’s go somewhere,” she said, deciding it was best to leave the decision to him. Maybe he had his own toys.

He grinned and thrust out his hand. “Steve. Feeling seriously lucky to have met you tonight.”

“Victoria.” Her fingers brushed over his palm, but his touch lacked the heat and magical connection she’d come to feel with Max. A sense of hollowness grew in her belly. The club’s music pounded out of the speakers, spurring customers to hook up. Couples and triples writhed against one another on the dance floor, flooding the air with the scent of arousal and pheromones, but she felt oddly disconnected.

“Come on, Vicky.” He caught her hand before it fell to her side and linked their fingers together. “I’ve got a room around the corner.”

Westin’s got you under his spell, Victoria. Whitacre never controlled you like that.

She frowned as she allowed Steve to lead her through the crush to the exit. Listening to her conscience had never been more difficult. And Steve’s use of the nickname “Vicky” only made things worse. Only Darius had ever called her that.

Max’s voice echoed in her mind. This isn’t you talking.

Her hand tightened on Steve’s. The warlock had twisted her mind . . . made her confused. She’d never been more conflicted.

“Do you live in the city?” Steve asked when they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Yes.” She’d moved in after Darius died, closer to the central hub of magic in the country, so that she would have greater opportunities to provoke the Council.

“I like it here,” he went on, filling the void left by her short answer. “First-time trip for me. I’ll have to thank my boss for suggesting this conference.”

Forcing herself to focus on the man she was with, she said, “Maybe I’ll have to thank him, too.”

His eyes sparkled in the light of the streetlamps. “Do I have to ask if you’ll be gentle with me?”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

She smiled genuinely. “Good. I’m not sure I can be gentle tonight.”