CHAPTER FIVE

MISCHALE

Bright lights pierced her skull. Where were they coming from? Where was she? A strange lethargy took its time lifting, but before it did, someone had their hands on her.

Without thought, she turned her feet to stone and kicked out, taking some satisfaction from the oomph.

Strong hands grabbed her ankles, and she lunged, lashing out with fists and sharp fingernails.

“Cease, woman! I promised not to hurt you, and I haven’t. I won’t.”

That voice. The man from the graveyard.

Bariq.

Mischale slumped, staring at the white ceiling as memories returned to her. She’d fallen asleep in the car, but this was not the lobby.

Groaning, she threw her arm over her eyes, trying to block out the infernal light enough to think.

“Good morning,” he murmured — far too cheerfully. And far too close.

“Debatable.”

Bariq laughed. His deep rumble barreled into her, sending sparks and tingles to areas she really don’t need to be thinking about.

Mischale sat up and brought her knees to her chest.

Oversized wooden furniture with plush velvet cushions provided seating. An ocean of light-colored carpet spread across a wide expanse of floor, with islands of chairs, tables, and pedestals holding sculptures or vases of flowers. A hallway led to what must be the bedrooms.

All the rooms in Ciaran’s hotel were nice, but she’d never seen one like this before.

Eventually, she ran out of things to look at, and her eyes landed on Bariq.

His purple eyes were fixed on her. Bariq was taller and broader than her usual type, but she’d never been attracted to any of them like she was to this man.

Mischale took stock of her body. Her flames weren’t back, but they were building inside her. A huge sense of relief accompanied that realization. Whatever he’d done to her wasn’t permanent. She could leave at any time and fully recover at some point. Despite that, she wanted her fire back. It was the principle of the thing.

Her clothing was in place, so Bariq hadn’t done anything creepy while she slept, even though she’d dreamed about his hands caressing her. She breathed a sigh of relief, then noticed her shoes were off.

Narrowing her eyes, she pinned him with her most deadly glare. He raised an eyebrow. Was he that unaffected by her?

“Did you take off my shoes?” To be fair, she would have taken them off, too, rather than walk on carpet that light, or put them on furniture so nice.

“Of course. It’s not like I have servants waiting around the corner. I wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. So, I took off your shoes.” He cleared his throat. “Is someone waiting for you? Anyone missing you?”

“Those are definitely creepy kidnapper questions.” Mischale reached into her back pocket, found it empty, and remembered her phone was gone.

“Can I use your phone? Mine was lost somewhere last night.”

A look so fleeting she almost missed it passed over his face as he handed over his cell phone and moved away. Was that disappointment? And why did that give her a thrill?

Mischale keyed in a text to the anonymous number that would send her message to everyone in the group.

Lost my phone. I’m with a man named Bariq at Ciaran’s hotel. Everything okay.

She erased the text after the little whoosh sound, and handed the phone back.

“Thank you.” Mischale paced. “What did that guy you called… Your friend Lucius. What did he do with Joe and the ghouls?”

“The matter has been taken care of, but we need to talk about what happened.”

Mischale missed a step. “Taken care of? What the hell does that mean?” Was Bariq with some sort of vigilante group, too? What were the odds of that?

Bariq leaned one shoulder against a wall and crossed one ankle over the other. “Who was he, and how did you know him?”

There was no point in hiding the truth. If Joe couldn’t hurt anyone else, most of her job was done.

“I found him in a bar. He told me his name was Joe. He drugged and kidnapped women.”

Bariq arched a brow. “Do you make a habit of running off with drugging, kidnapping strangers?”

She met his gaze. “Seems like I did last night.”

He smirked. “Touché.” His eyes turned serious. “But what do you actually know about him? Did anything seem… Odd?”

“Other than the fact that he tried to kill me? Did your friends collect any evidence?”

“Yes. Well, they found some jewelry and… There were enough, um… Other things left behind to identify six women.”

Mischale nodded. “Can I see what they recovered?”

“Are you sure you want to?”

Did she want to see body parts and mementos? Of course not. If her group had caught on sooner, maybe they could have saved some of the women.

“No. But I’m not done until I do. There are families who will want to know what happened to their missing sisters and daughters.”

Not to mention a coven of witches, but that was still classified from Bariq until she figured out what he was. If he could steal magic, Mischale wasn’t going to tell him about witches in Port Storm.

He pushed off from the wall, took her hand, and led her back to the sofa, where he pulled her into his lap so she straddled his thighs. “And it’s your job to inform them?” His eyes caught hers.

Mischale should protest his manhandling of her, but only dropped her gaze to his chest. A part of her really wanted to know if his sweater was as soft as it looked. Had he asked her something? What had he said? Oh. Her job.

“Someone needs to care enough to do it.”

He leaned closer to her.

Her heart thumped in her ribcage. It was a wonder it didn’t beat right out of her body. She gave in to temptation and slid her palm up the plane of his chest. His sweater was even softer than it looked, stretched over hard muscles.

An ache built, starting at her heart and moving lower. There was a raw, primal attraction between them. She couldn’t deny it. One that made her want to lay beneath him, and surrender to his indomitable strength.

His lips twitched, and he pulled her hand to his mouth.

Her breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her hand? What was this, the age of chivalry? His fingers were warm to the touch.

Warm with her flames. She couldn’t forget he had stolen from her.

Instead of kissing her knuckles, he turned her palm over and brushed his lips against her wrist. If she hadn’t been watching him, she might have believed his lips never touched her.

Slickness pooled between her thighs and dampened her panties. Her flames didn’t return, but a different story of delicious heat spread through her.

She wanted to melt into Bariq. Let him take away her worry and stress. However, the practical part, the loud part, demanded that she keep her wits about her.

His eyes met hers and locked on, pupils expanding to devour his purple irises.

 He was as turned on as she was.

Jerking her hand from him, she sat back enough to think.

His small frown of disappointment speared her, but she couldn’t be falling for some stranger.

He leaned back, and she breathed easier.

Bariq’ palms skimmed along her thighs. They lingered for several long seconds as conflicting emotions flitted across his face. She shifted and he groaned.

His hard length pulsed underneath her, straining against his jeans. Mortified, she tried to scoot off him, but his fingers gripped her thighs, locking her in place.

Bariq’s head dipped as his nose slid against her cheek and over her ear. He blew a hot breath against her earlobe and she shivered.

His eyes closed. The muscles in his jaw ticked ever so slightly. She bit her lip to snap out of the trance like state he enticed her into, embracing the pain.

Instead, she focused on how amazing he felt beneath her. No one else ever gave off this sheer level of powerful. She skimmed his bottom lip with her fingertips.

A shiver zipped through her, and Bariq gripped her even tighter. Within a blink, he scooped her into his arms and pressed her back into the couch.

Mischale opened her mouth to speak, but he was already there, lips sure and strong against her. Well, she didn’t know what she was going to say anyway.

He slid his tongue past her lips, wresting a moan from her. His entire body pressed into hers, fitting them together perfectly.

Strong hands threaded through her hair. She was helpless against the onslaught of his lips and tongue. Unbidden, her hips rose to meet him, grinding against him, anything to get rid of this ache building inside her.

Her whole body ached for him. She just wanted — she didn’t know what she wanted, but whatever it was, Bariq could give it to her.

“We must stop.” Bariq pulled away. His knuckles brushed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

“Enchantress,” Bariq whispered against her lips, sliding his along hers.

Sparks exploded over her skin and settled low in her belly. Groaning, she arched into him, wanting more. Needing more. His strong hands skimmed her sides, touching her, but not where or how she needed him to.

Mischale grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. Relief flowed through her. His hand seared through her clothing, burning her up with a new kind of flames. Her relief was short-lived, as he pulled back from her.

His eyes were almost entirely black, with just a hint of dark purple around the edges. He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him, so, what was the problem? With a growl, he set her aside and rose from the couch in a single motion. He paced, hands mussing his hair.

Confusion filled her. Wasn’t this what he wanted? All the looks and touching. She hadn’t been making that up. Surely, he had to feel the same attraction she did.

“We can’t do this.” He speared her with a glare. “You’re not even supposed to know about us. I should wipe your memory and take you home. Where do you live?”

Squirming, she looked anywhere but at his face. “Another creepy question. You want me gone, I’m gone, and I can get home on my own.”

Mischale leaned down to snatch her boots off the floor. Uncaring about immaculate, light-colored carpet, she pulled on her shoes with rough jerks and headed for the door, hoping it was an exit not a closet.

“Wait.”

She ignored him.

“How easily do you freak out?” He put himself between her and the door.

She paused. “I freak out a little when someone asks me how easily I freak out.”

“Fair enough.”

Her heart leapt to her throat as he moved toward her with predatory, sinuous steps. Mischale backed up until the couch hit the backs of her legs and she involuntarily sat.

He leaned down, hands gripping the back of the couch on either side, caging her.

She crossed her arms, refusing to look at him. So many emotions whirled through her. Anger was first, with lust a close second.

“Come with me to a masquerade tonight.”

Mischale blinked. The man was constantly throwing her for a loop. “What?”

“A club I frequent is throwing a party tonight.”

“What club?”

“Oubliette.”

She’d heard about the place, but never had reason to enter it. Rumors abounded about what went on in the deepest levels.

Suddenly, Bariq’ domineering ways made sense.

He fingered the leather collar around her neck. “Offer me your submission and be mine for one night.”

She wasn’t about to do that without knowing more about him. “If I agree to do that, you have to do something for me in return. And you have to do it first.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“Tell me what you are.”

His lips pressed together in a thin line.

She shrugged. “It’s only fair that I know what I’m getting in to. You’re asking for blind obedience without limits. I don’t know anything about you.”

A mask settled over his face. He shut down and pulled away from her. Physically and emotionally.

She rose to her feet. “I should go.”

“Don’t.” Bariq caught her arm and swung her back around. “Give me until this afternoon. Stay here, and let’s think about it. We’ll talk again before the party to see if the arrangement will work for us.”

He leaned close to her ear. “I promise I’ll have you screaming my name so Other Worlders in the next city will hear it. Now, do we have a deal?”

Mischale swallowed, pulse beating loud in her ears. She believed he just might be able to do it. Nodding, she held out her hand to shake his. “We have a deal to talk about a deal later. I won’t leave.”

He gathered her fingers into his, and kissed the back of her hand before turning it over to repeat his earlier gesture of brushing a kiss to her wrist. Flames licked at her skin, and she greedily pulled them in.

Bariq pulled away. “I have some calls to make before I go to bed.” He pointed to his right. “The kitchen is there. Feel free to help yourself to anything you find.” He pointed down the hallway. “Guest bedroom with bathroom is on the left. Any questions?”

“No.”

Bariq swept into a low bow. “Until this afternoon.”

As he padded away, her stomach twisted, her insides in knots. Mostly, it was anticipation, but part of her was afraid of what could happen tonight. She’d never offered complete submission to anyone before. What would he do to her?

But she had to get her flames back.

A chill zipped down her spine and she wrapped her arms around herself. She’d had a nap, but she could use some sleep. Maybe it would help her flames regrow. Yawning, she headed to the bedroom.

It wasn’t the most homey space. No paintings or knick knacks. The four-poster bed looked inviting, though. She wandered into the bathroom.

A few jars of bath salts lined the rim of the bathtub. A soak would be nice. Mischale filled the tub, dumped in two of the jars, and settled into nearly scalding hot water. It felt like heaven to her sore muscles.

Without her phone, she had no clue what time it was, but it must be getting toward late morning. Plenty of time to take a nap before the party tonight. Other Worlder events didn’t start until well in the evening.