Ascension Read online

  This was no place to let her feelings for Taig get the better of her. She buried them deep inside her so he wouldn’t sense them and her need. So no one would sense them.

  Lealandra walked further into the pale marble foyer, her footsteps loud on the grey tiles, and suppressed all of her feelings. The elevators were ahead to her left, opposite a large sheer marble wall that had water trickling down it into a clear pool at its base. Ferns and other greenery surrounded the water feature, instilling a soothing feeling into the lobby. The plants and water weren’t only there to create a calm mood and make the building look like little more than a normal office. Witches drew power from the elements so they liked to surround themselves with as much nature as they could when enclosed in a concrete world. The building had several water features on the communal floors and plants spread throughout it, as well as using natural stone in the apartments and open areas. Every piece of nature they brought into the coven boosted the power of its inhabitants.

  She nodded to the neatly attired short middle-aged witch that acted as the concierge of the building and went straight to the elevators. They could have easily teleported into her apartment but it was better to sneak in. There were barriers that acted like nets around the building and would sense such a spell as they passed through. She wanted to get in and out without trouble and that meant taking the risk of walking through the front door and someone seeing them.

  Her finger found the call button once and then twice, and then she started pressing it repeatedly, mentally chanting for the elevator to come quickly and for it to be empty when it arrived. She could already feel the eyes of the concierge digging into the back of her head. The witch was on to them. She knew Taig was part demon.

  Lealandra went to press the call button again.

  Taig caught her wrist and held it. “We’re good, sweet cheeks.”

  She wished he would stop calling her that. It made her blush and this wasn’t exactly the best place for him to be showing such familiarity towards her.

  At the same time as she heard a soft click behind her, the elevator doors opened. Lealandra stepped in and turned to find the concierge staring at her across the wide foyer, the phone receiver pressed against her ear. The doors closed and Lealandra pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

  Definitely on to them.

  By the time they reached her apartment, Gregori would know a demon was in the building and that she had returned. She should have teleported them in. It had been stupid of her to try to get in unnoticed. Gregori had probably given the receptionists orders to report in if they saw her.

  The elevator doors pinged and opened and she went straight down the hall, hurrying towards her apartment. Gregori wouldn’t dare confront her there. He would wait for her to surface again. If they could reach her apartment before he could reach her, they would be safe for a while at least. Her magic reached out and she sensed the barriers around the building. All lights were red. The spells had already changed so people couldn’t teleport out. She would have to go back down and out through the foyer.

  Lealandra fumbled with the key but managed to get it into the lock. It was difficult to twist it with Taig standing so close to her, his broad hard body brushing hers and towering over her, but she didn’t want him to back off. She needed him close. He soothed both her heart and her power, making her feel safe even as everything in her screamed that she was in danger.

  The door gave and she stumbled inside. The moment Taig was through, she slammed the door, turned the locks and slid the chains into place.

  “They know,” Taig said, an observation not a question. He would know if witches were coming for him. Demons had strong instincts and his half-blood status didn’t change that.

  He moved fluidly through her apartment, gaze darting over everything, taking it all in. She stood by the door with her heart in her mouth, struggling to steady her nerves. Her fingers brushed the mark on her chest. It sparkled and flared into life. Each symbol guided her on her path to ascension. She understood the main ones but didn’t know what part they would play. She had never learned to read an ascension path because she had never thought it would happen to her. She stared at the one close to her left breast, opposite Taig’s mark. Conflict. There was only one way she could interpret that.

  They had made it into her apartment.

  Now they just had to make it out.

  That wasn’t going to happen without a fight.

  CHAPTER 5

  Taig stood in the middle of Lealandra’s small apartment. The living room and kitchen were open plan, combined in an L-shaped space no bigger than thirty foot by twenty, with the kitchen situated behind him to the left of the entrance. A door on the wall between the kitchen and entrance was open, revealing a bathroom. Two more doors punctuated the opposite cream wall. One of them was ajar. A bedroom. The other?

  He looked at Lealandra. She stood by the entrance, her right hand nervously stroking her left forearm, long red nails grazing her skin. Her eyes bore into the couch, her expression distant and glassy. He had seen the dark brown stain that marred the beige covers and had noticed the bullet hole in the wall to his right and the patched up window to his left. He had taken everything in the moment he had stepped into the crime scene.

  Everything including the leap in Lealandra’s fear.

  “Two bedrooms?” he said and her grey eyes came to rest on him. She frowned at the doors for a moment, as though struggling to remember, and then nodded.

  Taig was tempted to ask why there were two bedrooms but held his tongue. Maybe he had been wrong about her and Charlie. He wasn’t about to admit that though and even if she hadn’t been with her Counter-Balance in that sense, his feelings about the man and her weren’t going to change. She had gone with Charlie. Charlie had taken her from him. This coven had taken her from him. Nothing was going to change that or the anger he felt about it.

  Small tables stood like bookends at either end of the beige couch. A lamp occupied one. An empty mug the other. He touched it. Lealandra. She must have left in a hurry when she eventually had. There were dirty pans in the kitchen too and the stale air held an undertone of rotting trash.

  He glanced at the wall with the bullet hole and then went to the window. Someone had taped cardboard over the point where the bullet had entered. Jagged fault lines spread across the entire glass pane from beneath the torn cardboard. They caught the lights of the cars passing along the streets below, flaring up and then dying away. He looked at the building opposite. Disused and ready for demolition by the looks of things. This area was on the up. Chances were it was set to become an office building or fancy apartments. His gaze fixed on the window directly in line with him. It was open. Whoever had shot Charlie hadn’t cared about giving away their position.

  Taig turned around and looked at the bullet hole in the wall opposite. The plaster surrounding it was broken, some of it still covering the modest flat screen television below it. What had they been watching at the time, sitting together on the couch like lovers? Lealandra had never done that sort of thing with him. He glanced at her and then at the couch. She stood by the doorway and looked paler now, as though the room was sucking the life out of her.

  He touched the bloodstain. Fury swept like wildfire through his veins at the thought they had made Lealandra stay in the apartment when it was such a mess. The least they could have done was clean it up and repair it for her. He crossed the room to the wall, bent over and peered into the bullet hole. Something glinted. The bullet was still in there. He held his hand over the crater to see what he could sense from it and his frown hardened.

  He looked over at Lealandra. She stood there. Silent. Expression empty. Watching him.

  “My brand of bullet.” Taig straightened. “My kind of gun.”

  “I know.” She stepped away from the door, towards him.

  “We going to have a problem here?” He held his ground. He was sure that Lealandra wouldn’t turn on him, but someone was pinning the murder of h
er Counter-Balance on him and he was in a building full of witches who probably knew what she did.

  Lealandra shook her head. “I don’t believe it was you… but somebody wants me to.” She glanced at the door and then back at him. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

  His gaze shifted to the door for a brief moment and then to the bullet hole. He could understand her unease about discussing this here and now but he wanted to know what in Hell’s good name was going on and why someone was out to frame him for a murder he would never have committed. He only took out marks. If someone had tried to hire him to kill Charlie, he would have told Lealandra to get the hell out of the city and to take her snivelling Counter-Balance with her.

  When Taig stepped towards her, she stepped backwards, her gaze darting to the door again. No one was there. He checked the ceilings for signs of a camera but found none and then reminded himself that witches had other methods of listening in on conversations. Lealandra had used such spells when they had hunted marks together.

  “The message?” He pointed towards the bedroom with the open door and raised his dark eyebrows.

  Lealandra nodded but didn’t follow him when he went over to the room and pushed the door wide open. He flicked on the light and stared at the scrawl on the cream wall above the black wrought iron headboard of the double bed. The red of the message matched the bedclothes. He walked to the bed and placed his hand on the pillows. Lealandra. To think she had been sleeping there when someone had done this. A gnawing hunger for violence and vengeance blazed in his blood, hard to ignore when everything in him urged him to surrender to it. He would have but he didn’t have a target for his fury. Not yet at least. When he knew who had done this, he was going to unleash everything on them. No one threatened his woman and lived.

  His focus shifted to the message. It was rough, hand drawn by someone’s fingertips. He didn’t understand the symbols. A circle within a circle, much like Lealandra’s ascension mark, but the glyphs within it were different and a line intersected the circle and the central symbol. He stared at the huge mark. It was at least two foot tall and just as wide. An intricate jagged pattern with sharp corners that reminded him of the tribal tattoos the young gang kids wore.

  Taig reached out to touch the mark and stopped just short. He looked over his shoulder at doorway.

  Lealandra stood in it, her arms wrapped around herself, fingertips pressing deep into her sides as though she was trying to hold herself together.

  “This is…” he started and she nodded. “Whose?”

  She swallowed and tears lined her eyes. “Charlie’s.”

  Taig crossed the room in a heartbeat and gathered her into his arms. She didn’t uncurl. Her arms remained wrapped around herself even as his encircled her too, holding her close. She trembled against him and he closed his eyes, his whole body tensing as he vowed to keep her safe. He wouldn’t let the sick bastard who had done this near her again.

  “They broke into the morgue in the basement. Took his blood.” Her voice was tight, strained by emotions that he could feel rushing through her.

  The urge to stroke her hair, to kiss the top of her head and whisper to her that it would be fine, that he would protect her, was overwhelming but he kept still and silent. She leaned her cheek against his chest and then her hands were on him, pressing into his pectorals and tugging his black shirt into her fists. She shook with each sob, the sound tearing at his heart. He never should have let her go. This never would have happened if he hadn’t let her leave him. He would have been there to protect her. She would have been safe with him.

  “What does it mean?” He pulled her closer, letting her feel the strength of his arms around her and his resolve to look after her. She had come to him and he would take care of her now, would ensure her safety and never let anything bad happen to her again.

  “Death,” Lealandra whispered and buried her face against his chest. Her hands moved to his back, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades as she clung to him.

  Taig growled and his bones ached with the desire to shed his human skin and surrender to his dark hunger to hunt and destroy whoever had done this to Lealandra, whoever had turned his strong woman into this fragile girl quaking in his arms.

  “The mark in the centre?” He lowered his head a fraction, enough that he could smell her hair and feel her warmth against his lips. Almost within kissing distance. It soothed the beast inside him enough that he retained human form.

  Lealandra came out of his embrace, not moving far away enough that he had to let go of her, but placing herself beyond reach of his lips. Her eyes were bloodshot, lashes wet with tears. She took a deep shuddering breath.

  “It’s a mark that means ascension. The line breaks it and pierces symbols for death and Hell.” She ran her fingers beneath her eyes, erasing her tears and the black marks left by her mascara, and then pointed a shaky finger at the symbols in question. “It’s a warning that I’m going to Hell.”

  “It’s nice this time of year.” Taig flashed a soft smile but she didn’t return it. He kept one arm around her while he gently wiped away the remaining trace of her tears with the pad of his thumb. His fingers paused against the delicate curve of her jaw, his thumb resting close to her lips. He held her gaze, making sure her grey eyes stayed locked with his as he spoke. “I won’t let them hurt you, Lea. I won’t let Hell have you. I’d go down there and bring you back.”

  She smiled at last. It was faint and only lasted a split second, but it was a smile nonetheless.

  “I should freshen up and get my things.” She pulled away and he frowned at his outstretched hand, missing the feel of her against it.

  “I’ll take a look around,” he said for want of something better to say.

  She crossed the apartment and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Taig looked at the mark. Death and Hell. Someone was out to kill her. There was no doubt about that. He turned and stared at the bullet hole in the wall of the living room. Someone who wanted to separate Lealandra from those who could protect her. They were trying to isolate her. Charlie’s death had taken away her Counter-Balance and weakened her. If she had believed that he had killed Charlie, it would have weakened her further and would have stripped her of a powerful ally. And the message that was designed to flush her out of the coven and force her into seclusion. They wanted Lealandra scared and alone during her ascension, a time when she would be both vulnerable and extremely powerful. They had managed to do one of those things but he wasn’t about to let the other happen. Lealandra would never be alone. Not while he lived.

  He was still staring at the bullet hole, trying to piece everything together, when Lealandra stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the living room to her bedroom. His gaze immediately moved to her. Her eyes were still red from her crying but that didn’t change how beautiful she was and neither did the make-up she had reapplied. She was beautiful period, and looked her best first thing in the evening when he was waking up next to her. He smiled with the memory of all the early evenings they had shared. Nothing beat the feeling of waking slowly with her in his arms, their naked bodies entwined.

  Lealandra stopped in the doorway of her bedroom, a large black holdall in her hand, and stared at him with wide grey eyes.

  She looked her best when he kissed her so hard that her lips turned rosy and full and her pupils dilated to darken her eyes. When she wanted him, when he could read every thought crossing her mind and they were only about them, about him, then she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  When she looked at him as she was now.

  Her painted red lips parted, showing a trace of white teeth. He remembered the feel of them against his flesh, the playful nips that she used to mark her path across his bare body, and the way she would kiss him better if he ever pretended that she had hurt him. Her pupils widened, hinting at her rising desire. His rose too, driven by the sight of her so full of hunger.

  Driven by the sight of her.

 
; Taig didn’t make a move towards her. The slightest movement by him would shatter the spell, the trance they had fallen under, and remind her of their surroundings and the things that had happened between them. Six years ago, he would have had her in his arms by now and would be pinning her to the bed as he kissed her. But this wasn’t then, and she wasn’t his anymore. Not yet, anyway.

  Protection and a taste.

  Did he really want to do things this way? Was he that much of a mercenary or that desperate to have her in his arms again? She would hate him for it.

  A tiny part of him said to take the money she had offered him. It wasn’t much, but she wasn’t lying when she said it was all she had. He was surprised she had even that much. The coven barely gave an allowance and they didn’t pay people a salary. She must have come into the money some other way. He didn’t want to think about the possibilities. He hoped it had been from her previous coven.

  She blinked and walked on, disappearing behind the wall. He stared through the doorway at the bed, listening to her moving around the room, pulling drawers open and closing doors. A zipper sounded and then she reappeared. A long dark red coat clung to her figure, tight against her torso but flaring out from her hips downwards. It was undone, revealing that she still wore the same black skirt, corset and boots she had been earlier.

  When her eyes rose to meet his, he looked past her at the bedroom. The mark bothered him. So did the gun. Whoever had left the message knew about magic, possibly could even use it.

  “Did you tell anyone that you didn’t think I was the killer?”

  Her look turned thoughtful and she idly stroked her free hand down the length of her black hair. Taig’s fingers itched with the desire to replace them, to feel the silken strands of her hair slipping through his rough hands and to raise them to his nose and breathe in her delicate fragrance.

  “Yes. It came up and I denied that you would do such a thing.” She placed her bag down at his feet, snapping him out of his reverie. “I said that even you wouldn’t go that far, at least not this long after I had left you.”