Naughty Karma

dressed for yoga and he knew from experience how easily those stretchy fabrics peeled away from her skin. “I’m good.” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch and brushed a fingertip down her nape, just to touch her.

She trembled and took another slow, deliberate sip of the rich red. “Liar,” she murmured.

He smiled. “Always.”

For long minutes they simply drank the wine and sat, his finger stroking her neck the only communication between them. Then Karma lurched forward and set her wine glass on top of the crate, turning to face him. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

His ribcage contracted hard around the empty space where his heart should be. That was about as close to a declaration as either one of them were likely to get. “None of your people will be hurt either,” he answered.

“I know.”

He heard I trust you lurking beneath the words and wanted to tell her not to, wanted to warn her off, but she was crawling toward him, throwing a leg over his to straddle his lap, and he forgot why it even mattered as Karma sucked his lower lip into her mouth. She rocked forward until her pelvis connected with the swelling length of his cock. He bracketed her hips, taking control of the rhythm there, even as he let her lead in the kiss. Her taste was potent with urgency and the lingering flavors of the red. He heard his heart thudding faster, louder. The wrongness of it—outside his body as magic pushed the blood in a steady flow through his veins—made him stand abruptly, lifting Karma with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, breaking the kiss to lean back to meet his eyes.

Damn he was going to miss that look. The slumberous decadence. Dazed and heated. Knowing that it was only for him. He carried her through to the bedroom, away from the telltale heart. He laid her on the bed, quickly divesting her of her clothes and shedding his own, until they were both naked save the charm between her breasts. His charm. Then he lowered himself over her and there was nothing but skin and heat between them. He called up the magic that was so much a part of him and lay it over both of them like a blanket.

Karma hissed out a ragged breath and he moved to catch the sound in his mouth, feeding on every gasp and moan. He slipped his fingers between their bodies, finding her slick and hot and ready for him. Her warm hands were there, guiding his cock to her entrance, and then he was thrusting into a tight fist of heat, his entire being focused on the clasp of her body. He feathered his magic over her skin, pulsed his power into her body, watching her aura for the erratic flickers when he hit a sweet spot then bending his will to hitting it again and again until she was teetering on the edge of orgasm. He laced their fingers together, pinning her hands on either side of her head, and drove up high into her, flooding her with his power. She screamed her pleasure, arching beneath him, and something unlocked. Suddenly her power was there, meeting his, jetting through him in a blinding blast. He roared, pounding into her as he came, her essence surrounding him, consuming him, saturating every cell with a thousand tiny starbursts. Then the second wave hit and he was coming again, blind to everything but the supernova of her.

He collapsed on top of her, wrung out, and listened to the rapid, uneven rhythm of her breath.

“Prometheus,” she whispered. “I—”

He didn’t want to hear what she was going to say next. He couldn’t. He cut her off with a kiss, quick and light, then murmured, “Shh. Get some sleep.”

She was exhausted. It was a small thing to smooth the edges of her energy until she fell into a dream.

He hoped it was a good one. A future where everything was bright and shiny and worked out perfectly. A future he didn’t have much hope of seeing.

Chapter Twenty-Seven The Perils of Lying to an Oracle

“Now, about my power...”

The maenad laughed, a girlish ripple of flirtation and heat. “Aren’t we greedy, my pet?” The devil stopped laughing abruptly when he conjured a medallion into his hand. Her eyes gleamed with avarice. “Now, where did you get that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.” She shook her head, laughing again. “Clever Prometheus. He always knows how to get what he wants, doesn’t he? But what if I don’t want your pretty medallion? What would you give me in order to keep your power then?”

“I have other relics. What is it you want? Name it.”

“I told you already.” The devil turned her head and he followed her gaze.

Karma stood frozen, mouth open as if in mid-shout as Prometheus and Deuma bartered in a moment stolen out of time. Rodriguez lay on the ground nearby, unconscious and bleeding from the head. Across the room, Brittany sprawled in an unnatural position at the base of a wall. But it was Karma he saw.

“She’s worth three of you,” Deuma purred. “Give her to me and you can keep your powers.”

He hesitated for only a moment. “It would have to be all of them. Forever. No more deadlines and renegotiations.”

“Oh, I love a man who barters.” Deuma giggled. “Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me? No? Fine, then. For that I’ll take the medallion too.”

“Done.” The word echoed like a gong, harsh with the finality of a deal struck.

Karma lurched upright in bed, a hard gasp shredding her throat. He’d sold her. He’d sold her just so he could keep his power. She flicked on the lamp, needing the comfort of light, the protection of it.

“Karma?” a dark voice asked groggily. “What did you see?”

Prometheus reached for her and she shied away from his hand, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nakedness. “You bastard.”

His sleepy gaze sharpened and shuttered. “I take it you saw me.”

“You gave me to her. You sold me to Deuma in exchange for your power.”

Eyes narrowed, he sat up in the bed. “And Ciara drowned and Brittany was killed in a car accident. None of it happened. Not all of your visions come true.” But his voice was too harsh, too defensive. God, he would really do it.

“The intent was there.” Clothes. She needed clothes. She struggled out of the bed, dragging the sheet with her and backing toward the closet. “Ciara didn’t want to drown, Brittany didn’t want to crash her car, but you wanted to trade me for your power. Not your life. Your precious, fucking power.”

“This is ridiculous.” He flung back the covers and stalked after her, naked and not giving a shit about it. “I couldn’t trade you to Deuma if I wanted to. I don’t own you.”

“That didn’t seem to make a difference.” She slammed the door to the closet, tugging on underwear, slacks and a stretchy knit top in record time. She’d wanted distance, but as soon as the door shut between them she wanted to yank it open again, the better to scream at him. He did not get to slink off without talking to her about this.

Dressed, she flung open the door and he was standing there, his arms braced on either side of the jamb, waiting for her. He’d pulled on his jeans, but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. “It was a dream.”

Karma shoved past him, ducking under his arm. “She said you already knew what you could give her to keep your power.” She spun to face him, arms akimbo. “Was that a dream too?”

He groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. “She said something about you that made me think she would be interested in a trade, but I haven’t done anything about it.”

“No? You haven’t told me about it either. Don’t you think I have the right to know if a demonspawn bitch wants my soul?”

“I’m not sure it was your soul she was after. She seemed mostly concerned with your natural power. Whoever your father was, he left quite a calling card.”