Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Forty-Six: Climax

The next night, Thacker didn't believe me when I said I was going directly back to Van's suite after dinner. He followed me there. He got an earful of profane words, but, apparently, he found my tirade entertaining. He grinned and trailed me all the way to the suite door, which I slammed in his face.

I threw my tiny satin purse on the polished mahogany table that had been filled with guns and silver bullets just days ago. I pulled off the clip earrings—because pierced ears weren't a thing now—as I headed toward the bedroom, intending to change and make my way down to the tunnels to check on Van and Henry, despite Van's request that I stay away. Even if Thacker was suspicious and waiting to follow me. Even if I had to muddle him to slip past him.

I missed Van. I needed to see him, touch him. And I was worried about Henry, of course. And Minnie needed a detailed report of how he was, not just Ace's assurance that his transition was "going normally."

As I drifted through the bedroom door, an unexpected sound stopped me in my tracks, causing the beaded tassels on my dress to thump softly against my knees. The shower was running. I could hear the regular beat of its spray as well as thicker dumps of water hitting the tub basin—which I could imagine were Van pressing water from his hair.

I slid out of my shoes and padded across the thick black and gold rug. He'd left the bathroom door open.

I positioned myself so that I could see the reflection of the bathtub in the full-length dressing mirror. The old-fashioned, claw-footed tub was currently shrouded in a circular curtain, but almost immediately Van turned the water off. The sound of metal hooks scraping metal rod accosted my eardrum as Van reached for a white towel and dried his face as he stepped over the tub without even checking his footing.

He toweled his hair casually as I admired the perfect physique of his backside. Good god, it should be a sin for a man to be made so perfectly.

I bit off my smile. It probably was a sin. Maybe Van was right. Maybe the witch that crafted the Blood Curse sold her soul to the devil, and he betrayed her by turning what she thought would be the ultimate torture into something much more complex and carnally wicked—a deadly but highly alluring agent of sin.

I wanted to sin with him right now. I felt heat pooling in all the good places.

He paused in his toweling, and I saw his chest expand slightly as he breathed in. I knew he had scented me—probably scented my arousal, too, but he didn't turn around. He continued drying off. "Planning to buy yourself some trouble by sneaking up on the world's deadliest creature?" he said casually.

"No, just window-shopping. You know, browsing the wares? Honey, I was wrong—your ass is anything but ancient."

He chuckled and reached for a robe on a hook. I made an unhappy sound and crossed to him, trying to slip back off even as he drew it on. He compromised by wrapping it around the both of us, letting me slide my arms along his perfect chest, down his waist, up his muscular back as I pressed my ear to his heart. Obligingly, he took a breath and made it beat.

"Mmm, you are warm," I sighed. "From the shower?"

"That, and I just fed."

That stilled my exploration of his back. Mabel had been conspicuously absent from dinner. All her friends wondered where she was. I raised my face to look at him.

"From who?" I demanded.

His perfect features twitched in confusion, but he answered. "That dipshit Donald Holloway. I glamoured him and then erased his memory. And do not lecture me about consent, my dear. He was haranguing two ladies half his age in the garden who certainly did not consent to his company."