“And what?”
“Depending on how you feel, I’d be open to… to exploring things with you, too. Like, more-than-friend things.Physicalmore-than-friend things, and oh my goddess, please shove a book into my hands and give me an assignment so I can finally stop talking before I completely obliterate the last of my dignity.”
“And keep all the rambling embarrassment to myself? Never.” I laugh, then run a hand over her head, tugging on one of her silver locks. “We should probably get to work.”
She grins up at me, her eyes sparkling, fingers still curled around the top of my loincloth. “You sure?”
My thoughts come fast and furious.
No, beautiful. The only thing I’m sure about is how badly I want to strip you bare, lay you out on the library table, and film you playing with your pretty little pussy until you come all over your fingers, moaning for me like a wild thing…
But out loud, I say only, “I’m… sure.”
I break away from her and busy myself cleaning up the drink I spilled, which has now made a colossal mess all over the counter. Better that way, though—gives me time to put the proverbial leash on this ridiculous hard-on.
Westlyn’s offer isbeyondtempting.
But… no. I can’t. Right now, my only job is to crack the code on the Codex, figure out why the Forsythes and her parents were so bent on binding her to that demon, and determine how the two things are connected. Her very life depends on my ability to think clearly, and I can’t do that if I’m using our time together to indulge in my fantasies.
Fantasies that are more depraved than our naughty little witch could ever imagine…
“So what’s on the agenda tonight, Professor Peepshow?” she asks, rummaging in the cupboard for some cheese crackers for the ravens.
Shooting her a teasing, don’t-get-me-started glare, I say, “Demonology. I dug up a few more seminary works on our dastardly prince of hell—thought we could do a deep dive.”
She pumps her fist in the air. “You always plan thebestdate nights.”
“You say that now, but that’s only because you haven’t seen how long these articles are. Seminary students like to wax poetic about all sorts of things, and you, my little overachiever, are on highlighter duty.” I toss the spent rag into the sink and turn the coffee machine back on. “You still want that latte?”
“Depends.” She grins at me, all mischievous and adorable again, and tugs at the top of her zipper. “You gonna cash in on the offer to touch my boobs?”
“Oh, absolutely.” I grab her wrist, pulling it away from the zipper and pressing a kiss to her fingertips. Then, with a grin and a wink, “But not tonight, Wild West. Now stop trying to distract me, and get to work.”
Chapter Fourteen
ROOK
While Lucinda and Huxley take turns stashing cheese crackers in every nook and cranny in the library, West and I spend the next few hours poring over the seminary texts, bouncing theories back and forth about the demon Zorakkov’s grand plans for manifestation.
According to the lore, many hellbound demons have a desire at some point in their eternal lives to fully incarnate on the earthly realm and expand their domains—a goal that requires a series of human vessels and a coven of dark witches or mages willing to summon them, bind them to the first vessel, and relinquish the power they’d otherwise retain over a demon they summoned with their own dark magic.
Of course, any magic user who’d willingly summon a demon like Zorakkov in the first place isn’t going to be the most trustworthy sort, which is why powerful demons rarely achieve their manifestation goals. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, they end up enslaved to the coven or worse—trapped in the void between realms because their human vessel dies and the coven doesn’t reappoint another one to serve in its place.
When they do manage to break free of a coven’s bond? Chaos ensues. A demon strong enough to break the spell that summoned them will often unleash hell—pun intended—in a massive burst of power, but it burns out fast. Within days, maybe a week at most. Then they find themselves right back where they started—wandering around in hell with their tail up their ass, waiting for the next desperate coven with a summoning spell.
Right now, we know Zorakkov is possessing Hunter Forsythe’s body. Wedon’tknow how long he’s been here, how long he’s got left, what the shadow magic society stands to gain out of the deal, and most importantly—why the hell they’re all so desperate to bind him to our witch.
“I need a caffeine refill—my eyes are glazing over.” West gets to her feet and stretches, her sweatshirt riding up to reveal her smooth, bare stomach. “You want another round?”
Forcing myself to stare long and hard at the text spread out before me, I nod. “But I’ll get them—you relax. What would you like? Another almond joy?”
“Sit down, sit down.” She skims her hand along the tips of my wings as she passes, and it’s all I can do not to shiver. “No offense, Rook, but you make a better professor than a barista. Now tell me your order or you’re stuck with whatever mad scientist concoction I come up with.”
* * *
She returns a few minutes later with two frothy soy peppermint mochas—a departure from her usual—and a little more pep in her step. Still, tonight’s endless theorizing is clearly wearing on her—her eyes are rimmed in red, and she’s barely holding back a yawn.
“Hey. You feeling okay?” I ask, taking the mugs from her hands and setting them on the table. “We can stop if you’d like, come back fresh tomorrow night. I know some of this reading is pretty dry.”
