Midnight Hunter. Kait Ballenger
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Sanders.
The thought of asking for help from the gorgeous, troublemaking witch, who also happened to be one of his students and, oh, yeah, who worked in a fucking strip club to make matters even worse, made the head on his shoulders scream in agony and the one beneath his belt buckle sing in praise.
Shit, this was not going to be good.
THE VIBRANCY OF her green eyes haunted his memory. He’d seen that face before. He knew he had. Nathanial Weil recollected the woman’s features as he tried to recall where he’d seen her, where he knew her from. She’d said she wasn’t any relation to Johnathan, but he knew better. She had some connection to him, whether familial or not. He hadn’t seen her since he’d relocated to Rochester, of that he was certain, which meant he must have known her from back in Detroit. But how? The question clawed at the back of his mind, slowly irritating him. “What do you think of that girl we saw tonight, Trista?”
“What was her name again?” She paused for a moment, staring off into space before returning her gaze to him. “Vera. That was it. Vera.”
Vera. He rolled the name around in his mind. Everything about her, her name included, seemed so familiar. Still, he couldn’t place her. Those eyes...he’d seen those eyes before, and he intended to find out where. “So what do you think? She might be a good choice.”
A coy smile crossed Trista’s lips. “I don’t know, Nathanial. She’s clearly addicted but isn’t far enough in yet to really know what she’s doing.”
He nodded. “And that’s what makes her perfect. She’ll be easily manipulated, don’t you think?” That was exactly what he needed, someone he could bend to his will, who wouldn’t expect what he had in store for her, someone he could control. He could use her to his advantage and satisfy his own aching curiosity in the process. All too perfect.
Trista shrugged. “I’m not so certain. She may be an addict, but I don’t think her heart is really in it. She’s just here for the high. I doubt she’ll agree to it.”
“We’ll force her heart into it, then. She doesn’t have to be willing, now does she?”
Trista shrugged her shoulders again. “I really don’t know, Nathanial. She seems strong-headed, full of opinions. She doesn’t seem to know much, but I doubt she’s the type of girl who would fall for...”
“Do you doubt my judgment?” he growled.
She stopped what she was doing and turned toward him then. “No, I don’t doubt you, but...”
He stood and launched himself across the room until he was nose to nose with her. “But nothing!” he roared.
Her eyes widened as she cowered beneath the enormity of him. She shut her mouth and looked to the floor, refusing to meet his gaze.
That’s right. Learn your place, you dumb bitch. He was sick of these insubordinate witches challenging his every move. He was in charge, and the sooner they learned that fact, the better off they would be.
“But is exactly the word you need to drop from your vocabulary. There are no ‘buts’ when I give you an order. Understood?”
She nodded once, continuing to stare at the floor.
“Good. You’ll go ahead with the plans, then. Send your familiar to her. It will work.” He snaked his hands up the smooth skin of her upper arms until they rested on her neck. “Look at me,” he ordered.
She raised her gaze to meet his. Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips against hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He released her face, groping for her breasts and giving them a good squeeze.
He pulled back. “Is that a new bra I felt?”
She smiled, her lips still full from his kiss. “Yeah, I thought you would like it. It’s...”
He slapped her. Stumbling back from the intensity of his blow, she clutched at her cheek. Tears poured down her pathetic face.
“I didn’t ask you to think,” he snapped. “You don’t do anything without my permission. Understood?”
Whole body shaking, Trista nodded, refusing to meet his gaze again. She stood like that for a moment, not moving. He watched her with the eyes of a hawk. If she dared to look him in the eyes, to challenge him, he would end her. After she collected herself, she inched toward him, eyes still downcast and arms out as if to offer an embrace.
He raised a hand to stop her. “No, you’ve spoiled my mood. Do as I say and summon your familiar. I want Vera here by tomorrow, under my control. Understand?”
Trista nodded. Eyes still glued to the floor, she whispered the words the devil had gifted her to summon her precious pet. From a crack in one of the floorboards, a large orange-and-black tarantula emerged. It stretched its eight hairy legs as it slowly made its way across the wooden floor to her. The creature crept up the side of her slender leg and along the length of her body until it nestled itself at the base of her neck. She lifted the edge of her curled hair, and it sank its fangs into her skin, latching on to feed from the small teat that marked her as one of the devil’s black magic servants. The teat allowed the familiar to feed from her soul, bending it to do her will. When the creature was satisfied, it released its hold on her neck. She affectionately stroked a finger over one of its many legs.
“Go to the girl,” she whispered. “Fill her, and then come back to me.”
With a small affirmative hiss, the arachnid scampered onto Trista’s extended hand. She bent, placing it on the floor. It crawled toward the open door without haste.
* * *
WHEN VERA STUMBLED into her apartment later that night, she was flying as high as a kite. Not just any kite, but one of those fancy multicolored ones that looked like a parrot or some other beautiful tropical bird. She fell back onto her sofa bed, giggling at the idea of herself as a parrot. Stretching her arms wide in a tired catlike reflex, she reveled in the leftover tingles of power coursing through her. That had been such a great high.
Before she could snuggle any farther into the sofa, someone pounded loudly at her front door. She groaned, not wanting to leave the warm confines of her position. A moment later the knock sounded again, this time even louder. Oh, for Pete’s sake.
“Coming!” she yelled to whoever stood on the other side of the door.
She dragged her still-slightly stoned ass to the front door before pressing her eye to the peephole. She nearly shit bricks when she saw who was waiting on the other side. She parted her lips to release a resounding, “Fuck, you have got to be kidding me,” then clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing he would hear her through the paper-thin walls. Why in the name of all things holy—or, well, more like unholy, considering what she had been up to in the past hour—was her drop-dead gorgeous religious studies professor knocking at her door?
A shiver ran down her spine. Every bit of the power high she had experienced from her relapse into black magic disappeared as if a massive bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. There was only one reason Dr. Grey would show up at her door like this in the middle of the night and, well...it wasn’t because her midterm paper was two days past due.
She’d been Dr. Grey’s student for the past several months. Aside from being an intelligent, astute and caring professor, far more lay underneath Dr. Grey’s muscled, sexy-nerd exterior. She knew firsthand the badass-ery of which he was capable. The man had once cracked one of her bar patron’s skulls open after the sick creep had palmed her ass in a very unwelcome way. The patron had returned a few nights later for his usual debauchery, but he had never once tried to lay a hand on her since. So yeah, there was much more to Dr. Shane Grey than met the eye, including the fact that he was a witch hunter, and she’d had one too many run-ins with the Execution Underground already. The elite organization of hunters fancied