The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (20 page)

"Yes. Demons have no conscience, they just are as they are. Acceptance is easy when you have no conscience."

"But you
do
have a conscience?"

He didn't miss the attack in her question. He stared at her, hard, through his own flames and lowered his voice. His tone rumbled over bass notes. "My human half does; how about yours?"

"Which way now?" cut in Karl, exasperation tingeing his words.

"Left here. A few more paces and we should hit a sinking in the ground. I assume that means a ditch – the directions don't elaborate."

"You assume a lot, don't you?"

"Elena," said Karl, more curt than usual. "Let it go."

Pueblo moved to the front, allowing the other two to continue in hushed voices behind him. Clearly Elena was pissed off at what he'd done to Amy. He supposed she was relating, what with all the secrets and lies that had been kept from her. Whatever – he didn't need her help to feel bad. He tuned their voices out. Now where the hell was this ditc—

"Ooumgh," he grunted as he pitched forward, the shock of it dimming his flames a little. Then his hands hit something sloppy. With some effort, he freed them and managed to pull himself up, only to discover his legs wouldn't move. "What the—"

"You okay?" called out Karl.

"Stop! Don't move!"

"What?! Why?"

"Quicksand!"

"Shit!"

Shit indeed. Maybe it was his weight, but he was already waist deep in the stuff and sinking fast. "I need to get out,
now
!"

"Wait, calm down! I seem to remember reading that total submergence in quicksand is a myth."

"
What?!
Angel,
you and I
are a myth. Now help me out!"

"Elena—"

"I can't – no magic right now, remember?"

Karl cursed behind him – he couldn't quite turn around to see. Any movement seemed to drag him further down. The liquid sand was almost at his chest now, and the last of his flames disappeared, pitching them all into total darkness.

"Pueblo!"

"I'm here! Chest deep. I can't shift, I need all my energy to stay up!"

Oh, God!
Not that he'd ever prayed to God. Well, maybe once when he was a boy, but he'd quickly learnt that God didn't listen to the prayers of demons … but maybe angels did after all. A gust of wind came at him from behind, coupled with a low ruffling noise, and Karl was there, clasping his arms under his. The man was glowing gold.

He looked up, and in the light of his glow he could see his wings – enormous things – stretched wide open above them. He must be flying horizontal with his legs out behind.

"Tense up – I need you as light as possible, and you're not a small man."

Pueblo nodded. "I'm ready."

The wings moved up, then down. He felt the draft they made.

Christ!
Being under them like this, he was actually humbled. The desert was the only other thing on the planet with the ability to reach his humility.

He moved upwards a few inches, the sand now level with his navel, but Karl was straining.

"I'm flying at the wrong angle. Wait…" He swung forwards and piggy backed him, his legs taking the place of his arms, and gripping him under his armpits and across his chest. He locked his feet together.

"Arrrrgggggh!"
Karl lifted and pulled.

He had to hand it to the angel, those were some iron thighs he had.

Flying backwards, Karl dragged Pueblo out of the quicksand and back onto solid ground, where they both tumbled and lay, trying to catch their breath.

Elena ran up to them, placing a hand on each of their arms. "Are you all right?" There was genuine concern in her voice.

Pueblo nodded.

"Never better," panted Karl.

Pueblo turned to look at him. "Thank you."

He managed a bob of his head.

"I guess that was the sinking in the ground," voiced Elena, in a soft tone. It was non-accusatory; just a statement of fact.

"Yeah – shouldn't have assumed," he offered by way of peace.

She took it with a lopsided smile, and held out an open palm to each of them to help them up. The waif of a witch hauled the men to their feet without too much effort. "Demon strength comes in handy sometimes," she grinned. "So, where to next?"

"Er … that was it. The directions stop after we find the sinking in the ground."

"Oh. Oh, no…"

"What is it?"

"Any chance that we have to actually 'sink' in order to get to the Brujii dimension?"

"Oh, God…"

"Am I missing something?" piped Karl.

Pueblo sighed. "I can't believe I missed it. The quicksand is the portal. I – we – are supposed to sink."

"You mean, I just pulled you out for nothing?"

"I didn't know," he groaned.

"Okay," said Elena, "so we're going in. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get back home."

The three of them stood at the edge of the silica death trap, the half-angel between the two half-demons.

"And, what if this
isn't
the portal?" asked Karl.

"I'm ninety percent sure it is," confirmed Pueblo.

Karl raised his eyebrows. "I'm gambling my life on ninety percent?"

"Hey, those are good odds."

"For horse racing, yes. For my life—"

"We should hold hands," cut in Elena.

"What? I'm grateful he pulled me out and all, but I ain't holding his hand."

"Portals suck you in quick. If we don't hold onto each other, there's a chance we'll get separated and end up God knows where – don't be such a girl."

Karl held out his hand to him.

"For Christ's sake…" But he took his hand.

Elena pinched her nose.

"Honey, what are you doing?" asked Karl.

"I don't want gooey sand up my nose," she shrugged.

"Alrighty then … ready?"

Pueblo looked back down at the mass of gunge he'd just been hauled out of. "I'd rather be jumping into a pavement with Mary Poppins."

Elena leaned around Karl and stared at him. "
You've
watched Mary Poppins?"

He flashed her a grin. "I do have a TV, you know."

"On three then," said Karl. "One … two …
three.
"

They jumped.

~*~

She had fallen asleep sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, still satisfactorily full from lunch, a hot cup of tea warming her insides. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she was aware of this. She waited for the cat – he always came when she slept. Always. But this time, she had been waiting quite a while.

"There you are. I've been looking for you."

She whirled around in surprise. "Paul?" She frowned, standing up. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"I meant, here in my dream."

His eyebrows went up. "This is a dream?"

"Yes. I dream a lot at the moment. They seem…" she hesitated.

"Go on."

"More real than real life. That must sound awful to you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He stepped in towards her, closing the gap between them. His brown eyes, always liquid soft, searched her face – for what she wasn't sure. "This doesn't feel like it isn't real," he whispered, his lips just millimetres from her own.

And then he kissed her. She closed her eyes and responded. It felt warmer than earlier – no, maybe that was because they were next to the fire … the fire … there was something important about the fire…

"God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, then crushed her against him, knocking the wind out of her a little.

What the hell…?

The kiss turned hard, urgent, almost angry. The ferocity of it shot a bolt of lust straight through her, and she swore she felt static electricity sparking between their lips. She pressed her hands against his chest and gasped into his mouth in bewilderment. Hard muscle lay beneath her palms. Okay, this didn't feel like Paul anymore. She tried to open her eyes, but they refused to obey.

The hot mouth made its way down her neck, making her skin tingle everywhere it touched.

"I can't open my eyes…" she whimpered, although she couldn't tell if the whimpering was because of fear, or what his insistent lips were doing to the hollow of her neck. Good lord, his kisses were still doing that electrical thing, sending little vibrations buzzing across the surface of her skin.

When he spoke, his voice was deep – it made her think of bottomless oceans, only the heat behind his tone had her imagining a desert oasis. "You cannot see because you've been blinded."

"I'm blind?"

"Yes. No memory, no vision."

She should care more, really she should. This was clearly important information she was being given, but
holy hell
,
what was he
doing
to her? It was like an awakening…

"I'd love you to wake up, my little spitfire."

"You can read my mind?"

A baritone laugh thundered around in her head. "No, you spoke out loud."

A memory pricked at her, so sharp it almost hurt. Familiar, this was
so familiar.
But she could barely concentrate. Her whole body thrummed with … with
what?
This wasn't just lust – God, no – this was
need.
She ached for some kind of … completion.

"I need…" she whispered. "I need…"

Why couldn't she finish the sentence?

"Don't worry, little witch, I know exactly what you need."

She almost hit him for calling her a bitch, until she realised what he'd actually said … which made no sense whatsoever. But then, this was her mind, right? She should be hitting herself for her own ambiguity.

Before she could philosophise further, he spun her around and bent her over the arm of the sofa. Huge, warm, sure hands ran up her skirt, hoisted it over her hips, then wasted no time in delving into her lacy knickers.

Her indignant gasp at the
nerve
of this man, was overshadowed by an embarrassing mewl of want that unexpectedly tumbled out of her mouth, as long fingers found private places.

What the
hell
is wrong with me? Was I celibate in my previous life?
 

Her sex was slick with moisture and …
fuck
… he stretched her, filled her, pounded into her with those digits, his rhythm relentless. His chest, which pressed into her back, rumbled against her as purrs of delight echoed in her ear. Heat engulfed her –
so much heat.
 

Somehow, he managed to push her jumper right over her head, and it got tangled around her wrists for a minute before falling to the floor. When he leaned back down against her, his body was scorching hot; God help her, she might be dying of a fever – maybe she was delirious – even dreams were never this good.

A thumb scraped her left nipple through her bra, as teeth grazed the curve of her bare neck. Her moan was long and low. His fingers, his mouth, everything he was doing to her was turning her into molten lava; liquid heat gushed down her inner thighs.

"I know exactly what you need,"
he growled against her skin, then he licked her neck with a rough, flat tongue. Breaking. She was ice, breaking, melting…

His teeth were there again, strumming against a vein.

Oh, God … Oh God!

"Please…" she pleaded.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice low, dangerous, promising a freedom wrapped up in forever – she felt it inside her, pulsating in time with his thrusting – freedom, freedom…

"Please!"

"What do you want?"

I don't know! Bite me, fuck me, take me, all of it…!

Then something shifted, like sand giving way beneath her. There was some kind of sinking feeling and he became less solid.

No!

He mumbled a curse. "Time's running out … I'm sorry … I've got to go." He sounded heartbroken.

"No … stay…" Desperation coloured her voice – she couldn't help it – she'd been so close to something pivotal, she knew it.

"I want to … I can't…"

"No!"

But time never stopped for anyone, did it?

Desperately, she tried to open her eyes again – just to see him. She needed to see him. Nothing. She couldn't see a damn thing!

She gripped onto his wrist, his hands still clutching her to him, but he was immaterial now – or at least it felt that way to her sightless senses – his skin, muscle, bone, all gave way beneath her touch. A sound, like fire fuelled by wind encircled her, heat coursed through her once again, his voice, barely a whisper now, reached out to her …
"Remember…"
 

Then he disappeared, taking the heat with him, leaving her thrown across the sofa in disarray. She tried to get her head together, but everything was too confusing, disjointed. Realities blurred. Was she still dreaming?

"Are you all right?" came a voice, filtering through some part of her consciousness.

No, I ache, I ache so much – I can't bear it!

"I heard you screaming."

Hands found their way to the small of her back, and something inside her snapped. She spun herself around, reaching out for what would take this God-awful pain away. What was it, even? It felt like loneliness, unforgiving, empty, cold; but it also felt so physical, like a knife through her heart, twisting…

I need…

She found skin, hair, lips, smashed herself into them…

I need…

A yelp of surprise sounded somewhere … in her head? From his mouth? Why was he surprised? He started this – this was his fault.

She clung to him for dear life. The heat inside her was torture, the heat between her legs, marginally worse…

Inside … inside…

She grabbed the hand still resting on her back, snatched it away and forced it into her knickers, against the ache…

Sod this!
She tore the lace clean off her, giving him free access, and thank the powers that be, there was no hesitation from him this time. He was right there, pressing, rubbing, invading, groaning against her chest. They tumbled back onto the sofa, his weight pressing down on her…