The Beacon (The Original's Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  A tremor ran through her. The girls wouldn’t do that to her. They wouldn’t. Would they? But then why hadn’t Katherine told her Lilith was in town? “What do you know?” She feared he knew much more than she did.

  He shrugged. “Those of us who lurk in shadows hear things.”

  “I think you're lying.”

  “And yet, you haven't shut the door. I can help you. We can help each other.”

  If he knew anything, he’d brag about it. He was reaching, trying to trick her into a partnership. She shook her head. “Never. Not ever. Do you hear me? Step onto my property again and you'll find yourself in a summoning jar so fast your head will still be spinning when I twist the lid shut.” She slammed the door on his shout of laughter.

  Bastard. That daemon would never leave her alone. Somehow, she needed to do something about him.

  And Lilith. She needed to find out if Lilith was indeed in town.

  She paced the confines of her living room. If Lilith was here. If she had gone to Kat’s house to retrieve her family Grimoire. . . . “Gods give me strength.” That would give credence to Crowley’s speculation that the coven would oust her. Her daughter hadn’t been acting like herself lately; she’d dared challenge her over her plans and Rowena had no choice but to put the silly girl back in her place.

  But Lilith might not understand that.

  Tomorrow she’d visit Kat and find out what was going on. And if Lilith was indeed back in town, she’d deal with her. The question would be, how? She needed to discover if Lilith could unlock the Legacy stone, but she’d be damned if she’d hand over the coven to the girl. Either she’d need to recruit Lilith to her way of thinking, or she’d need to get rid of her. Nothing could be done tonight. Not with that daemon out there. He was another she’d do well to get rid of.

  Needing to set her mind to something else, she sat on the couch and flicked her wrist. The television turned on.

  “Two more soldiers have died while RI struggles to find a serum. RI’s director, Dr. Edwin Moss is petitioning the public and scientists around the world for aid.”

  Rowena snorted. The humans wouldn’t find a cure in time. “Goddess bless them, all those boys are going to die. What they need is Magic.”

  Magic.

  They needed Magic.

  Maybe some . . . immortality.

  And she needed to get rid of Crowley.

  Mm. Preferably without the Watchers noticing.

  Rowena tapped her fingernails on the end table, grinning as her idea hatched.

  Chapter 23

  Lilith took time to take a shower after her fight with the daemons. Her hands felt better, the blackness on her skin receding to the very tips of her fingers. But her reprieve from talking to James was short-lived. He waited for her at the bottom of the steps. Without a word, he led her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her before sitting. “Now, tell me why you're here.”

  He thought it was going to be like that, did he? “You first.”

  “To protect you.”

  Lilith sat back. That's the last thing she’d expected to hear. “A vampire protecting a human?”

  His gaze narrowed. “Cut the bullshit. What are you?”

  She tipped her chin up. “Human.”

  His jaw clenched.

  Well, damn. She couldn't tell him about the coven, but she didn’t like lying, either. “I may possess a bit of Magic.”

  “A bit?” His gaze stroked down her arms to where the tips of her fingers held traces of black now. “What happened?”

  She pressed her thumbnail to the tip of her index finger, testing to see if the feeling had returned. “I'm not very good yet. I’m out of practice and I lost control of the currents.”

  He leaned forward. “Those daemons, they said you overreached. How?”

  “I can manipulate the elements by using the Earth's energy. I allow it to flow through me, but when I lose control it burns, just like an electrical current.”

  “Elements?” His brows drew together. “How does that translate into swords?”

  “I pulled the ore from the ground to summon the blades.” She'd answered enough questions for now. “Why are you protecting me?”

  “Because I was sent to.”

  “By who?”

  He kissed his teeth, looking away. “Why did you come back?”

  Gods, it was like dancing with words. She sat back and crossed her legs. “I got a note.”

  “I forgot about that.” His brows knitted. “You thought I sent it. Why?”

  She shook her head and shrugged. “I just assumed. You were here and it seemed odd.”

  “What did it say?”

  “There were two. The first said ‘The future lies in the past,’ but the last one said: ‘The truth lies in the past. It is time. Come home.’”

  “Christ.” He dragged his hand over his head and sat back. “The Historian, maybe. Sure as hell sounds like her.”

  Lilith arched her brow in question.

  “She's the“—he waved his hand in the air—“holder of all daemon knowledge. A living Akashic records.”

  “She sent you to protect me?”

  His gaze cut to the side.

  “Exactly who sent you?”

  “The Watchers. They sent me.”

  That didn't sound like anything the Watchers would do. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “You're welcome to ask.”

  Lilith scoffed. The Watchers damn well spoke when they felt like speaking. They didn't explain themselves to anyone. “So you've protected me. Now what?”

  His expression turned wry.

  “You scared the entity away long enough for my Magic to be restored. You took out one of those vampires, and guided me to the Illusionist.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What entity?” He stood. “Is that what happened in there the other night?” He pointed to the ritual room.

  Good gods, he was getting all riled up again. She kept her voice calm. “I captured it in a summoning jar.”

  “So, again, you saved yourself.” He looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “This is the twenty-first century.”

  A bark of laughter erupted from his chest. “I'm not worried about that, sweetheart. I'm worried about why I'm here and what's still coming.”

  Her irritation fled. “Right.” She tipped her head to the side. “Maybe Nan has the answer.”

  “To what?”

  “The truth lies in the past. I've searched the house top to bottom. I haven't found anything else that might be the truth. Maybe she has it. Maybe the truth I'm searching for will tell us what's coming.”

  His gaze narrowed. “How is it you know what the Watchers are? You haven't even asked why I haven't demanded more information, as if you’re aware the effort is futile.”

  Shit. She wet her lips. “The information was in my Mother's Grimoire.” And, after being raised as a Grigori witch, I know exactly what you're up against in trying to communicate with the Watchers. Most of them were half insane. The Grigori coven's powers came from the Watchers. While vampires inherited the worst of a Watcher, the coven had been blessed with their gifts. Perhaps that was the reason the vampires had turned on the coven during the Clearances.

  He looked away, his jaw flexing. “So, what? You're going to believe whatever Nan says? She's a malicious—”

  Now why would he worry about that? “Did Nan say something to you?” He was hiding something, didn't want her to hear whatever Nan had to say.

  “Nothing she didn't say the night I killed her.”

  The fact that he refused to look at her worried her. What could Nan have possible said? “Tell me.”

  “What do you think she said, Lil?” He sat, slumping back in his seat. “She said she saw our future. That what would come to pass was an abomination.” He shrugged. “Your grandmother might have been a bitch, but she still tried to protect you from me.”

  Lilith shook her head. “She
wouldn't have crossed the street to save my life. She always said I was nothing. Useless. That I'd never become anyone of note.”

  He reached across the table and stroked his finger down her arm. “What about the birthmark?”

  She tipped her head to the side.

  “The crescent moon on your shoulder, what's it mean?”

  Gods, he bounced from one topic to another. What was he after? “Nothing. It's just an odd mark.”

  He tipped his head to the side. “Come on.”

  “Seriously. It's nothing.” She had no idea what he wanted her to say. Lots of people had birthmarks. “Do birthmarks mean something to daemons?”

  He sat back in his seat, staring. “Maybe we should ask Nan.” The way he watched her, it was almost as if he were looking for some kind of reaction from her.

  “Okay. But what does a birthmark have to do with anything?”

  He shrugged, glancing away. “Just a hunch.”

  A hunch he didn’t seem to want to share. “Yeah, well, I've got the beginning of a plan.” She grabbed her bag off the table and dug inside for the potion Kat gave her. “Does Nan always manifest in the same place?”

  “The closet in your room.”

  “Okay.” She found the small bottle and held it up. “I'll spread this mixture over the threshold and along the walls of your room. Nan won't be able to cross.”

  His expression grew shuttered. “What about me?”

  She lifted one brow.

  “I’m daemon. Will I be able to cross?”

  “Of course. Don't worry, I won't lock you out of your room and leave you to Nan's negligible mercy.”

  She intended to keep him inside with her. She got up and walked upstairs, James close behind. Once in his room, she sprinkled Kat's potion at the edges of the room. The whole while, James didn't say a word. She'd almost thought he'd left until she glanced up. He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded over his chest, relaxed. . . . No, he wasn't relaxed at all. Despite his casual stance, his muscles were bunched tight, coiled to strike.

  Her breath hitched and she straightened. The hunger in his expression sent a jolt of warning through her. She remembered visiting an exhibition on big cats as a child. They'd lined up the animals in cages and she'd felt sorry for them. Before she'd realized what she'd done she'd approached one cage, reaching her hand up to the bars to pat one of the lions watching her so intently.

  The cat's handler had pulled her back. “Ya never tease such a beast, miss. They'll gobble you right up.”

  She felt like she'd been caught doing just that again. Her breath shuddered out and she took a reflexive step back.

  James’ expression shifted, his lips pressing together. He dropped his gaze. And left.

  Damn him. Lilith pressed her hand to her belly, trying to quiet the flutters. She couldn't take any more of this on again off again rubbish. Why wouldn't he just take her? Take over and make her his? She'd damned well made her wishes known.

  She turned back to her work, finished sprinkling the last of the mixture of herbs and salt around the edges of the room. This afternoon, the way he'd kissed her, she'd thought . . . she'd expected to make love to him tonight. Her whole body remained primed for his touch.

  Then pull it together and go get him. Her gaze shot to the mussed sheets on the bed. She squeezed her thighs together to ease the ache. Change into something sexier. Take a risk.

  A tremor raced through her. But what if he rejected her again? Her self-confidence was growing, but was still fragile.

  He won't. He's your mate. And if he does, it's his loss.

  She nodded. Stroked her hands down her robe. “His loss.” Right.

  Lilith went into her room, stripped off her robe and slipped on the baby-doll she’d worn the other night. He liked this nighty. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her legs while he’d riled her up over the book she read. The soft white material hugged her breasts, before falling in pleats just below her bum.

  Closing her eyes, gathering her nerves, she shimmied out of her panties. She was aroused. Wet. Just from that single smoldering look he'd given her. As a daemon, he'd smell her long before he saw her. One way or another, she intended to discover whether he didn't want her, or if some misguided attempt to protect her held him back.

  Lilith took a deep breath, shook out her hair, swung open the door, and went in search of her mate.

  ***

  James paced the living room, his gaze never still. He needed to get his body under control. Came here looking to escape Lilith, but she was everywhere he looked. In the oddly erotic pagan art she'd hung on the walls. In the hominess of the knickknacks and books and the blanket folded over the back of the couch.

  Worse, he'd helped her unpack today in this room. He'd made her come for him the other night in this room. He'd go into the kitchen, but then he'd start thinking of kissing her, of how she'd taken care of him that first night. And the sense of peace she'd enveloped him in this afternoon.

  She'd made this place his home, damn her. Given him memories he enjoyed, that he couldn't escape.

  He paused, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep, calming breath.

  Except it wasn't.

  The scent of her arousal laced the air, heating him from the inside out and bringing another inch of steel to his partially aroused cock.

  And when he opened his eyes, she stood there, as if conjured from his lustful imagination. She wore one of those frilly night shirts again. The kind that hugged her unbound breasts before dropping in lose folds around the rest of her torso. It came to her upper thighs and a stiff wind would have all the material right up around her ears.

  The damn thing looked far too easy to remove.

  Jesus, she scared the shit out of him. He didn't remember fearing much of anything since childhood, but this wisp of a woman did the trick.

  He sat on the couch before he did something stupid, like haul her up against the wall, wrap her legs around his hips, and impale her on his cock. He closed his eyes, breathing shallow in a weak attempt to escape her scent.

  Still, he sensed her approach, heard the faint creek of the ottoman as she sat across from him.

  Damn her. “You've got no sense of self-preservation, do you?”

  “I want you.”

  His mouth went dry. He swallowed. “You can't possibly.” Say you don't. I'll corrupt you. Ruin you.

  The flats of her palms slid up his thighs, making him twitch. Forcing his eyes open. He needed every ounce of restraint to keep from grabbing her. And still, he feared he'd lose the battle.

  She held his gaze as she leaned back on her arms, just like he'd asked her to that first night. She spread her thighs, blushing, and he dared not look down. “I do. I want you.”

  “Jesus, I'm a daemon. Even if I wasn't, I've never been a nice man.”

  She shook her head. “I'm not looking for nice. Just you.”

  He leaned forward, ready to pounce. Caught himself and forced himself to sit back. For all her aggressive moves, she shook like a snow-covered kitten. “You should have someone sweet. Tender. Romantic.”

  “I'd rather have intense.” She bit her full bottom lip and he felt it in his groin. “Erotic. Hedonistic.”

  Desire slammed through him.

  Once again, he had no idea how to categorize Lilith Caldwell. She spoke like a hussy, had the body of a goddess, and behaved like a shy virgin determined to be deflowered.

  Honest to God, he didn't know which turned him on more. To hell with his ethics. His self-imposed morals. He was tired of suffering alone.

  He wanted her. He shouldn't. She was a witch. A goddamn human with a book that gave her the knowledge of a daemon. An innocent.

  She shifted. Spread her thighs a little more.

  An innocent offering herself to him like some pagan sacrifice. Just like she'd offered him her home.

  “Inhale.”

  Her scent flooded through him—lavender and the sweet scent of arousal. She was wet. Must be, to be
throwing off a scent like that. His gaze shifted, zeroed in on her damp thatch of curls nestled between her legs. Fuck it. He was going to hell anyway.

  James snatched her off the ottoman, dragging her into his lap, her wet heat pressed tight to the bulge in his jeans and they both moaned. It wouldn't take much for him to spout off, as hard as she had him. Their mouths crashed together, and he pressed harder, seeking the heat of her mouth. She spread her lips for him with a little cry of urgency that made his fingers flex into the soft curves of her ass. Already she moved against him, demanding his attention, tightening her thighs around his legs. She petted his face, then her nails bit into his neck.

  He fumbled between them, desperate to free his cock. Needing to come, to take the edge off so when he finally sank into her, he could linger all damn night. He got the fly down, pushed the rough material of his jeans down a bit and pressed her hand to his cock. “Make me come.”

  Lilith leaned back, her gaze dropping even as she wrapped her hand around him. Her eyes widened. “Gods.” Her pink tongue darted out, touched her upper lip.

  She was beautiful. He dragged her tease of a nightgown over her head and tossed it on the floor. Once her hands were free, both came down to circle him in their tight grip, to rub over the sensitive head and send a fierce wave of need through him. She shifted her weight, reaching lower with one hand, slipping it into his pants to fondle his balls while she worked his cock.

  He moaned. Cupped the back of her head to drag her back to his mouth.

  She resisted. “I want to watch.”

  His breath hitched.

  “I want to see you come.” Her hand worked him mercilessly, fucking him in her tight grasp. “Come on me.”

  Christ.

  His whole body drew up tight. Shivers burst out from his groin as the first ropy jet landed on her belly. Her grip rode him through the throes of passion, milked him dry.

  Breathing hard, he reached out and swiped his finger through his come. Christ, she'd let him come on her. And some primal part of him rejoiced in seeing his mark on her skin.

  She grabbed his wrist and their gazes locked.

  Slowly, she lowered her head and took his finger in her mouth, swirling her tongue around him as she tasted his seed. “Mm.”