Other witch complete s.., p.52
other witch - complete series, page 52
His eyes flashed gold and his right hand shifted into his talons. With a glance at me, he rolled up the bottom edge of his boxers to expose the rune on his inner thigh and I suddenly realised what he was going to do. Before I could object, he used his talon to slice off the flesh of his inner thigh. The runed flesh fell to the bottom of the bathroom and blood poured from the wound.
‘Bastion! I could have just painted an ezro!’ I complained.
Before I could approach him with my potions, he shifted into griffin form to start the healing process. I gaped a little at the sight of a huge griffin squashed into my bathtub. ‘Why did you have me bring healing potions?’ I asked in exasperation.
‘Just giving you something to do,’ he explained cheekily.
I was amused – but then I realised it wasn’t my humour I was experiencing but his. My eyes widened as I stared at him. ‘I can feel you!’ I gasped.
‘I should hope so. I’d be disappointed if I’d just sliced off a pound of flesh for no reason at all.’
Bastion shifted back to his human form and stood in my shower wearing his black T-shirt and boxers. I let my eyes rove over the muscles of his thighs; not a mark remained of the gruesome wound that had been there moments before. No wonder griffins were such fierce warriors; with healing like that they hardly needed to fear any wounds, bar a killing blow.
‘Amber, if you don’t stop staring at me like that, I’m not going to be held responsible for my actions.’
I felt the stirrings of arousal: his, not mine. ‘We have time,’ I murmured. ‘Come and be irresponsible with me.’
‘Temptress.’ Bastion reached down, grasped the bottom of his T-shirt and peeled it over his head. He stared at me, his gaze hot as he saw me admiring the hard lines of his chest. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s be irresponsible – but after we’ve cleaned up here.’
He turned on the water on and washed away the blood. I felt the skin under my collar grow hot as I watched him scrub the bath. Honestly, something was wrong with me: there shouldn’t have been anything remotely sexy about Bastion cleaning my bath.
I grabbed the superfluous jars of healing potion, took them into the kitchen area and put them back into the fridge. I held the fridge door open for a few moments – I needed to cool down.
Bastion padded out after me, still in his boxers and nothing more. I appreciated his lack of clothes; the man was model-fit. I hoped I wasn’t visibly drooling as I watched his corded muscles flex and roll when he moved.
‘Wine?’ he asked as he sauntered into my kitchen.
‘Champagne,’ I countered.
‘What are we celebrating?’
I thought of Melva. ‘That we’re alive.’
He nodded gravely. ‘Yes.’
Bastion pulled a bottle out of the fridge, opened it expertly and poured two flutes of champagne. He brought them over, handed me one then slid onto the sofa and took a sip from his glass. I felt his enjoyment as the cool bubbly liquid slid down his throat. I gulped, hard.
‘I can feel that you enjoyed that,’ I whispered, eyes wide. Every time he’d feel pleasure, I’d feel it too. I’d know exactly what he liked and he would know the same about me. Oh boy.
His eyes smouldered. ‘I know.’
I swallowed hard and knew that he wasn’t feeling trepidation from me as he might once have done. Instead he could sense my excitement, my desire.
I took a sip of my champagne and sat next to him. I was breathing a little more heavily, my heart beating a little faster. I was suddenly aware that I was wearing entirely too many clothes compared to Bastion.
He was making himself as non-threatening as he could. He’d removed his weapons and his clothes, and he was waiting patiently, letting me make the first move if I wanted to. He was taking ‘no pressure’ to a whole new level.
What I wanted, though, was for him to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me more than I could recall wanting anything else ever. I looked at him and hoped that I was communicating that to him somehow. It had been twenty long years since I’d last been touched. I wanted it to happen but I lacked the confidence to seize the moment. I needed him to make the first move.
I met his eyes. ‘Please,’ I begged softly.
Bastion’s eyes darkened. He took the champagne flute from me and set it down on the table then studied me, as he was wont to do. My chest was rising and falling a little too fast. He missed nothing. His hands slipped under me and he effortlessly lifted me so that I was straddling his lap.
I could feel his desire, not just in the hard warmth nuzzling against me, but in a roar inside my own body. My own desire was shouting just as loudly; it was taking every bit of self-restraint within me not to chuck myself at him like a groupie at a concert. But I wanted this to be good, to be right. We only get one first kiss; we’d delayed it for so long that it had to be perfect – a standard I had no doubt Bastion could attain.
His eyes were dark brown, flecked with hints of his shifted golden eyes. Those eyes that missed nothing flicked down to my lips and I felt the steady thrum of his emotions through our bond. There was more than desire there; I sensed his affection, his loyalty, and an underlying current of something more, something I was too scared to label.
Achingly slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away, Bastion lowered his lips, softly to mine. My eyes closed as I pressed my lips to his in answer. The kiss deepened as our tongues tangled and a delicious shudder ran through me. I moaned aloud. It felt like his tongue had a direct link to the heat between my legs.
As the kiss continued, something within us ignited. A mutual hunger burned between us, our connection amplifying every sensation, sending us into a maelstrom of heat and fire.
I felt his quandary moments before he forced himself to pull away. ‘We should go slow,’ he managed.
I could feel his desire, voracious and hot like mine but tempered with the need to be respectful, to take care of me, to do this right. ‘Fuck slow,’ I responded firmly, pulling him back down to my wanton lips. I had never been so sure of anything in my life. I kissed him with all the passion and need that was coiled within me.
His chest vibrated as he laughed silently. ‘I can do that,’ he promised teasingly.
‘Thank the Goddess!’
‘Are you sure, Amber?’ he asked, studying me.
‘Yes.’
‘You can tell me to stop at any time and I will. Straight away.’
‘I know.’ I paused. ‘I won’t though. I’m done waiting. If we went any slower, we’d turn into a glacier. Kiss me,’ I demanded.
‘Yes ma’am.’ His lips found mine again. This time, I wasn’t letting him pull away.
Chapter 22
I was pulled from sleep by the irritatingly shrill beep of my phone alarm. Without opening my eyes, I picked up the phone and launched it through the open doorway and out of the room. Bastion and I had barely slept all night, and a delicious ache was pervading any number of muscles that I hadn’t used in a very, very long time.
Amusement flared in my chest, in the part of me that I thought of as Bastion’s. He found me chucking away my phone funny. He would have found it even funnier if he’d known I was aiming for the wall.
I felt more solid today, and I realised that now there was only one of me running around the world. The jaunt through time had been necessary, but the prickling of my skin that told of two of me existing hadn’t been comfortable. I was relieved the sensation had vanished. Then I wondered where Frogmatch was; I hoped he was safely ensconced with Oscar.
‘Morning, Bambi.’ Bastion pressed a kiss to my neck in that spot that he’d found I liked, making me arch my back in a pool of desire. ‘You’re insatiable,’ he murmured as his hands stroked the length of my body.
‘Are you complaining?’
‘Not for a single second,’ he promised solemnly. ‘But you’re sore.’
‘A little,’ I admitted.
His hands paused. ‘Let’s get you some healing salve.’
‘Only if you promise to be the one that applies it,’ I suggested archly.
He grinned. ‘You read my mind.’
We showered together, hot water sluicing us. The first time we’d showered and tried to get clean, we’d ended up getting very, very dirty instead. This time we actually managed to use the shower for its true purpose.
When we stepped out, I dried, runed myself and got dressed. I sat in front of the mirror and contemplated my affirmations. For once, I didn’t have to say them. I had a familiar and it wouldn’t be true to affirm that I didn’t need anyone, not any more. I needed Bastion, and I needed Oscar and Benji and Jinx and Lucy. Heck, maybe even Frogmatch would make the list.
I looked at my reflection and crafted a new affirmation. ‘I am a strong, successful witch. With my friends and family beside me, I am unstoppable. I will change this world for the better.’ I smiled. Go big or go home. I was aiming for the moon; here’s hoping I’d land in the stars.
I sashayed out of my bedroom into the living room and took a breathless moment to admire the man manoeuvring around my kitchen like a pro. Like he’d manoeuvred around me.
‘What’s the plan for the day?’ Bastion asked, his tone businesslike as he passed me a glass of fresh orange juice and a bowl of overnight oats.
The oats gave me pause. When exactly had Oscar sneaked them into my fridge? My cheeks warmed and Bastion grinned as he felt my embarrassment. ‘Oscar knows about the birds and the bees.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t need to know that I know about them,’ I muttered.
‘You’re forty-two. He knows.’
I humphed and dived into my raspberry-flavoured oats. I was far hungrier than usual. I must have used a lot more energy than usual and my body wanted to refuel. I drained my orange juice and thought about my plans for the day.
Much as I wanted to lounge around naked in my flat with Bastion – and I really did want to do that – I had too much to do to spend time indulging myself. ‘I need to finish the final-defence potion. The base will only be fresh enough for another day or two, max. That’s top of the list. If you want, you can summon Shirdal to come and get his replacement vial.’ I owed him that and much more for saving Bastion.
‘And after that?’
‘After that is finding the necromancer that killed Melva.’
‘Do you have a plan for accomplishing that?’ Bastion asked curiously.
I grimaced. ‘Yeah. We’re going to speak to Voltaire. Krieg said he’d reach out to him for us, but so far we haven’t heard anything. Can you set up a meet?’
He nodded. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll line something up while you finish the potion.’
‘Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.’
He picked up our dirty bowls and pressed a light kiss to my forehead. ‘Always,’ he murmured as he walked away.
I watched him clean our dirty dishes, his calloused hands carefully wiping away the remnants of the oats with a sudsy cloth. ‘Lucky dishes,’ I muttered. A surge of amusement and shaking shoulders told me that Bastion had heard my comment. Stupid supernatural hearing.
I bit my lip as desire swelled. ‘I think I have a cleaning kink,’ I admitted. ‘Is that a thing?’
‘Kinks come in all shapes and sizes. You decide what’s yours.’ He shot me a look with his bedroom eyes. ‘I’m perfectly happy to clean dishes if it gets you fired up.’
‘Like a bonfire,’ I admitted.
‘I’m going to clean the whole flat while you make potions,’ he promised.
I groaned. With considerable effort, I tore my eyes away from him and tried to bring my errant thoughts back to my day. I reluctantly went through my office to my lab, leaving Bastion to clean and sort out an appointment with Voltaire. I exhaled in relief when I saw the base of the potion was still in stasis. It would be fine.
Before I started work, I pulled out my phone and texted Oscar. Did you get back okay from Liverpool? No need to be more specific than that.
No problem, came the instant reply. I’m Coven side. Frogmatch is with me. Let me know if you need me.
I’ll need a trip to Rosie’s soon, I admitted. I hated using the portal and being stuck in the Common realm, but I’d used a huge amount of magic recently and I’d be using more to finish the final-defence potion. I’d already drunk my vial of ORAL potion, so I’d need a proper recharge.
Just let me know when.
Relieved that Oscar and Frogmatch were safe in the tower – though I’d already been pretty sure of that from the orange juice and oats in my fridge – I turned my mind to potion making. I slipped out of my heavy skirt, leaving me in my leggings, before I removed the cauldron lid and broke the stasis spell.
I lit a fire under the pewter cauldron to start warming its contents then pulled a ladder over to my ingredient store. I climbed up, selected half-a-dozen ingredients including the incredibly rare kiteen leaves, and carried them to my immaculate workstation. Paranoia made me clean the surface again before I started work; I couldn’t risk this potion being contaminated.
I slipped the thermometer into its wooden frame and swung it so that the end dipped into the potion’s surface. It was still far too cool for me to add anything, so I busied myself with the rest of the preparations. My hands were steady as I lifted the purple kiteen leaf out of its safe storage.
I set it down on the work surface and started the painfully slow process of cutting away the leaf, leaving nothing but its broad veins. I tried to stay relaxed: one wrong slice would break the veins and the potion would be ruined.
With this potion I could save Bastion’s life, and Shirdal’s too. And other griffins, ones I hadn’t met, who were as worthy of the life-saving potion as the two griffins who’d wormed their way into my affections.
It was hard to believe how stubborn I had once been, how blind to Bastion’s kindness. I had ignored everything he’d done, even when he’d saved my life time and time again. It was painful to contemplate how wrong I’d been, not just because I despised being wrong, but because I’d wronged Bastion. And I still hadn’t found either the time or the words to apologise to the man who had taken residence in my heart.
The sharp blade nearly slipped and I snarled inwardly; now was not the time to go wool-gathering. Focus, Amber DeLea.
It took a very long half hour to cut away the leaf’s exoskeleton, and the whole time my heart was thundering. One mistake would render the ingredient useless and the potion would be over before it had even begun. But I was no blushing acolyte, and after forty minutes of careful work the network of veins was exposed.
Whoever had worked out that the veins of the leaf were powerful whilst the flesh of the leaf nullified them was a veritable genius. Whoever they were, their name was lost to history – but I would not suffer the same fate. I had created the ORAL potion; I was the first witch to make the final-defence potion in nearly a decade, and I was the first witch in living memory to have a magical creature familiar.
My name might be remembered but so would Bastion’s. I’d make sure of it.
Chapter 23
I decanted the last of the potion into the special round vials that were as much a signature of the final-defence potion as the blackish sludgy liquid inside them. Each vial was the precise dose for a griffin, and one dose would save them from a potentially fatal injury.
The dark liquid did not have the same properties if it was imbibed by any other species; it helped and healed, certainly, but it couldn’t bring them back from the brink of death. There was something in the griffins that was unique to them, their innate connection to death, perhaps. The final-defence potion enhanced that link and allowed them another chance to dodge death.
I had made as much potion as the leaf would allow, measuring each ingredient with razor-sharp precision. Eighteen little vials sat before me and I pocketed one of them. Bastion was irritatingly honourable and I had no doubt that he would only take one vial. He was guarding my life, and we were about to go head-to-head with another black witch. One vial wasn’t enough. Thinking about it, two vials weren’t enough. I put another vial in my desk drawer. Just to be safe.
I placed the remaining sixteen vials in a special potion pouch made of selkie skin, a rare commodity these days, that was warded with runes to keep the contents unbroken. Such runes painted onto leather had little effect, but selkie skin was another matter. Runes are fickle things.
I felt my wards buzz with a distinctly griffinish air. I knew the feel of that particular griffin. I touched the walls and, with a trickle of my magic, allowed Shirdal into my home.
I cleaned up the laboratory and, when everything shone, I pulled on my skirt. Dressed appropriately, I went back into my office and out to the living room. My balcony door was open and Fehu was resting contentedly on Bastion’s shoulder.
Shirdal was sitting opposite them, sprawled with one leg across the chair’s arm. His clothing was rumpled, his hair unbrushed; if the man would only make a little effort, he’d be quite charming. I had no doubt that he wouldn’t be cleaning up anytime soon.
Shirdal had a way about him, a relaxed air that eased tensions. He couldn’t possibly be a deadly griffin; he was a drunk and a bum. He let everyone around him underestimate him and then, when the going got tough, so did he. It was quite the transformation that I’d seen on a few occasions, enough to know not to trust the image he projected.
‘Shirdal,’ I greeted him.
‘Sweetheart! It’s good to see you.’
I smiled. I didn’t mind him using that moniker. I held the pouch up for him, gratified to see his eyes widen as he realised what it was. I drew it to my heart and held it there for five seconds with my eyes closed, imbuing it with as much of my protective magic as I dared.
When I opened my eyes, Shirdal was standing up, sharp, solemn and still. By the Goddess, this was the real Shirdal, not the other one. There was no sign of the swaying drunkard; he had drawn himself up to his full height and he looked regal.
