Dead Man's Deal The Asylum Tales - By Jocelynn Drake Page 0,66
nothing more than a defensive spell or two, but I hadn’t even known the magic was there when I had stared at the woman. I tried to focus on the feeling of the magic, see if I could identify the spell. Was the spell muddling my thoughts, making it impossible to think about anything beyond this woman and sex?
A whisper of fabric was my only warning that Demoiselle Noire de Gruchy had moved closer to me.
“Oh, you poor dear,” she cooed in that intoxicating voice. “You’ve got something in your eyes.” A hand as cold as ice slid along my cheek, chilling my skin while sending a fresh shot of hot lust straight to my dick, which was now rock hard.
I jerked away from her touch, slamming against the nearest wall. My breath exploded from my throat in hard, jerky gasps. She had been about to wipe off the dandelion water. Holy shit, if this was how I was reacting without falling under her glamour, I was totally fucked without it.
“Mint! The queen needs mint!” I shouted at her, sounding like an idiot, but I didn’t care. I needed to get the mint and get the hell out of there before I lost control. I didn’t know what it was. Her beauty, her smile, the sound of her voice, the scent in the air, the magic—maybe all of the above—but whatever it was, it was driving me toward one thing. Even with my eyes squeezed shut, all I could think about was pinning this woman to the floor and fucking until we both died of pleasure.
With some effort, I pulled up a pleasant memory of Trixie and clung to it like a life raft bobbing helplessly in the middle of the ocean. I loved Trixie. I wouldn’t betray Trixie with this woman. Trixie was my happiness. Trixie was my sanity. Trixie . . .
Demoiselle Noire de Gruchy gave a little laugh, proving she wasn’t disturbed by my idiotic shouting. “Of course. Come to my greenhouse and I’ll get some for you.” I wanted to tell her that I would wait outside on her front porch in the warm sunlight and fresh air. There were other things I wanted to do to give me some physical relief, but I didn’t want to do them with her. Never with her.
Regardless of what my brain was screaming, I found my body following her through the opulently decorated house to an open, two-story room filled with windows. Sunlight poured in, seeming to glint over her pale skin, but there was no warmth in this room either.
As she picked up a pair of pruning shears, I watched her out of the corner of my eye, but was careful not to look at her directly. My thoughts were sluggish, but at least my mind was working now. Despite my reaction of mindless lust, I knew she wasn’t a succubus. I had a good friend who was an incubus, which meant that I’d met a few succubi in my time—I knew the difference. Noire de Gruchy was perfect in every way but ice cold to the touch. Both incubi and succubi were warm, their body temperatures naturally running a little higher than humans, like most shifters.
Standing beside the long table filled with a wide variety of potted plants, I noticed that the magic felt stronger here. If this woman was fey, it made sense, since the fey got the bulk of their power from nature. But this was different. I held out one hand toward the nearest plant, taking in the stronger feeling of energy, when the plant shivered.
I jerked my hand back, my heart pounding in my chest. Holy fuck! That plant was human. Unlike the low energy that comes off many plants with magical properties, this one had a pulse and consciousness. I could feel the slight hint of a soul.
Demoiselle Noire gave a little chuckle over the sharp snip of her shears. My eyes jumped to her face and the horror helped knock the lust back. She smiled at me and I could now see that her eyes were black, matching her lush, coal-black hair.
“Finally figured out what I am, have you?” she said in that same low sweet voice that poured over me like warm maple syrup. She could be talking about peeling my skin off with a cheese grater and my brain would imagine hot, sweaty sex.
“The plants. They’re humans,” I said roughly, tightly gripping to my horror as an anchor.