She wandered further into the room, and he worked to build up the needed energy to conjure a slightly more appealing background for her seduction. The last illusion had worn him out a bit—he hadn’t exactly been practicing in his long years of solitude—but he found it was a familiar enough task that he could harness the power pretty quickly anyway. He would’ve held the last one longer, if she hadn’t startled him by nearly kissing him. He wasn’t sure why she did that, unless some part of her remembered him. Then again, Magdala’s defining characteristic had always been her relentless curiosity.
It also led to most of her problems, now that he thought about it. She’d made it to his side, but was facing away from him, scanning her flashlight around the room. He’d finally fully harnessed the illusion he intended, so he put it into play. He dressed her in the red gown again, as it flattered her ivory skin and proved a brilliant counterpoint to her startling blue eyes. If she remained true to who she’d been when he knew her, it was also her favorite color. How much of the demon he knew lived in the woman before him?
“Ho-lee sheetcakes,” she muttered. She hadn’t turned to face him yet, merely investigating the garden he’d conjured. “What the fuck is wrong with my brain?”
“Magdala,” he called.
She turned but really slowly. Facing him, she scowled. “Look, dream man, I dig the whole broad shoulders, glowing red eye thing, but you cannot pull that lurker shit on me. That is not cool.”
“Dream man?” he asked, not sure what she meant. This close, he was treated to the temptation of her scent. To him, she’d always smelled of the storm—that electrically dangerous smell that teased about the refreshing coolness of the wet while promising pandemonium. “This is no dream.” He avoided speaking her name again, as it seemed to upset her. Perhaps part of her punishment was to forget who she was? It had been done before, but he’d never met one of those cursed few.
“I’m not into the passive thing. I don’t get why my imagination keeps making you so mellow,” she complained. She bent to pluck a flower from the ground at her feet. A small posy, nearly indigo in color, yet it looked elegant in her pale fingertips.
Cupping her hand, he urged her back to her feet. Having her on her knees in front of him provided more temptation than he could bear. “Monkshood,” he explained, nodding toward the flower. “Called everything from wolf’s bane to the devil’s helmet. Are you aware it is the most poisonous flower known to man?”
Her lips curled in a smile. “I know what it is, smarty pants.”
He closed his hand around hers, crushing the bloom. “You insult me, but I can hear your pulse thumping at my nearness. I can smell your desire.”
Before he could pull her closer, she grinned and said, “Yeah, now that’s what I’m talking about. This is what you’re supposed to do.”
It froze him. Supposed to do? Was it some sort of test? Was Big Bad that devious?
Stupid question. Of course Big Bad was that devious. “Would you care to explain that one?”
“Ugh, seriously not in the mood for a talking dream. Come here.” With that, she tugged him closer by his lapels, and he greedily accepted what she offered this time. He reveled in the taste of her lips, the feel of her hips under his hands, and the tiny moan she released when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
She writhed in his arms, and he couldn’t resist lifting her by the ass to press her closer. He could feel her fingers in his hair, the scrape of her nails at his scalp, and each little pinpoint of carnality amped his own need higher. How long since he’d had the pleasure of a female in his arms? How long since his body pulsed in time with the ebb and flow of their entwining needs? How long since—
“You’re thinking too loud,” she groaned. “Let’s see if I can fix that.”
She grabbed his shirt at the collar, ripping it with the force of her hunger. Her mouth was at his neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin there. The electrical buzz of her power reached out and brushed his, likely an unconscious move on her part, but it made him drunk nonetheless. The urge to bite her neck, to take just a shard of that blue energy made his hips pump against her instinctively. She ground into him, the friction only chipping further away at his tenuous grip on control.
“My Magdala,” he whispered, licking the slope of her ear.
She went still in his arms, the fragments of his illusion chipping away to fall like twinkling bits of stardust at their feet.
Her breath sounded harsh in the tight confines of the rotted basement, and her eyes were panicked as she gazed around the room. He’d pinned her to a support beam, her legs wound around his hips, but he eased her down as her fingers seemed to spasm at his neck.
“What the fuck?” she asked, but he wasn’t even sure she was talking to him.
Just then, a scream echoed from the upstairs and her neck craned in that direction. While she was distracted, he faded into the wall, hoping she’d forget about him at least long enough for him to put the reins back on his desire for her.
Chapter Four
Madeline