Enslaved by Fear Page 3

  The flash of hot desire in Micah’s eyes, however, threatened to send her off the edge of sanity. He wanted her. She wanted him. Why the hell wouldn’t he just give in?

  And oh, what she’d give right now to touch him.

  She curled her fingertips into her palm to temper the fierce urge. “Have fun on your date.”

  Micah cocked his head, one eyebrow arched. “Do I hear jealousy?”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Brigid scoffed. “Don’t think so highly of yourself. There are still some of us women who don’t give a damn about bare chests and tight thighs. She must not be one of them.”

  Who was she anyway? When had Micah found time to meet her?

  Anger rumbled in the back of her throat. While she was cooped up here in these rooms, unable to even open a window, Micah was out flirting. Enjoying himself in ways she could only dream of.

  To her horror, Micah ran a solitary finger down the length of one folded arm. He leaned in close, taunting her with his intoxicating scent, and let his lips flutter a millimeter away from her shoulder. His breath washed over her skin. Hot, moist, and enticing.

  “As a rule, green looks fabulous on you. Tonight, it washes you out.”

  Sheer outrage had her wanting to grab him by the hair and throw him across the room. If it weren’t for the pulse of the ward surrounding him, she would have. With no other outlet to exercise her rising fury, she spun away, stalked to her bedroom, and slammed the door.

  He could go straight to hell. In fact, she’d be more than happy to escort him there.

  Chapter Four

  Seated at an intimate outdoors patio table, Micah forced his attention off the group of passersby on the opposite side of the street and onto his date. More than a little guilt weighed on his conscious. He should be into Jillian after the handful of dates they’d been on before. Her short blonde hair fell softly around delicate shoulders. Her smile could melt the polar icecaps it was so warm and inviting. She laughed freely, and not with a forced, hard-on-the-ears trill either. He couldn’t find a damned thing wrong with her.

  Except that tonight, when she made it clear he’d be welcome to further their involvement, he was bored to tears.

  Four months ago he’d have snatched her up in a heartbeat.

  Four months ago he hadn’t been assigned to Brigid.

  And every time he looked at Jillian’s pretty face, he couldn’t see beyond the lack of intricate tattoos on her forehead. Beneath the short hem of her yellow sundress, her feet and ankles were as plain as a sheet of paper as well.

  Had Brigid really been jealous?

  Micah forced a smile to his face and tried to remember what he and Jillian had been talking about. Her shy look, the warm invitation in her eyes combined with the suggestive way she ran the tip of her index finger over the back of his hand, announced loud and clear he’d missed a key moment of conversation.

  Damn it all, what was the matter with him? Brigid was a demon. Getting involved with her would be like asking the devil himself to honor a promise. He’d spent the vast majority of his life banishing demons from man’s realm. Why now? Why did his strength have to falter with Brigid?

  “So what do you say, drinks? My place?” Jillian stroked the back of his hand again.

  Uh-oh. He’d left himself wide open and neglected to redirect conversation before the invitation in her body language made it off her pale pink lips. He took a swig of his dark ale, swallowed it slowly to buy himself a moment of quick thinking.

  As Micah set his glass back on the table, the truth settled around his shoulders. If he wasn’t interested in Jillian now—even if he had been initially—he wouldn’t be interested when this assignment with Brigid came to an end. He turned his hand over and gave her fingertips a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know that now’s a good time.”

  He gave himself a mental check. What was he saying? Hell, he could find some temporary relief with Jillian instead of lying awake all night, hard as a rock, aware of every minute rustle beyond his bedroom door.

  It took a moment, but Jillian’s warm smile faltered with discomfort and the light in her eyes faded by degrees. She politely retracted her hand. “I’m sorry. I thought—I didn’t mean…” She blew out a hard breath and shook her head. “I feel…foolish.”

  “Don’t.” Micah tried to soften the rejection even as he flagged the waiter down for the check. “My head’s just not in the game.” Because it was too busy being obsessed with a woman who could kill him if he pissed her off one too many times and his wards failed.

  A demon for God’s sake.

  Brilliant, Nelson. Way to shoot yourself in the foot with a perfectly decent woman.

  He signed the receipt and rose from the table. “Do you want me to take you home?”

  “I think I’ll catch a taxi.”

  Micah groaned inwardly. Nothing like an awkward end to a date. It wasn’t Jillian’s fault his head was all mixed up. Or that he couldn’t stop dwelling on that jealous gleam in Brigid’s eyes. Right about now he felt like the world’s biggest heel for even accepting Jillian’s dinner invitation. He gave her a brief hug. “Take care, Jillian.”

  “You too.”

  With a polite nod, he headed for the side street where he’d parked his car. All he’d managed to do tonight was create a bigger, more uncomfortable mess. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t shove Brigid to the far corner of his mind where she belonged. He wanted that woman—the woman he glimpsed when she let down her guard—like he craved double-fudge brownies. And just like that unhealthy addiction, he knew one taste would never satisfy his craving.

  Which spelled disaster. Because becoming involved with Brigid meant heading down a path that could only end in death. As a demon she’d suck him dry and throw away his soul. If she stood up to her father and enacted the ritual, her past deeds stood about a snowball’s chance in hell of being forgiven enough to grant her further mortality. Worse, if things tailspun, and Brigid crossed that line with her divided heart, she’d take his life.

  What a perfectly sublime clusterfuck.

  Still, as he stepped onto the gas and pointed the sedan’s nose toward the McLaine castle, his pulse kicked up two notches. He couldn’t deny there was something enchanting about Brigid. Something that made him want to hold her close, protect her from her fears. She might come across as cold and calculating to her family. Might even have them all convinced she wouldn’t hesitate to throw them all to Drandar without flinching. Call him a fool, but when he cut past all the bullshit, all the pride and arrogance and the barbs she threw in self defense, Micah’s heart refused to buy into her facade.

  He picked up speed, navigated a quick turn. A few more minutes and he’d know. All he needed to do was touch her to understand. And by God, he’d waited too damn long to do just that.

  ****

  Brigid eyed her mother’s scroll for the hundredth time since Micah left for his date. It called to her. Spoke words of comfort she hadn’t heard in over two thousand years. Her mother’s words. If she could touch the thing…

  She didn’t dare.

  Even at this distance, with an entire room between herself and that sacred object, she could feel the power rolling off it. It chafed her skin, left her agitated and hungry for something she couldn’t explain.

  It also made her dark half rise up with unending bloodlust. Destroy the scroll. Surrender to the easy path. Embrace what her father had created the night she was conceived.

  In her centuries of existence, she couldn’t remember ever experiencing this conflict within her soul. One moment she daydreamed of her sister Isolde’s freedom and the peace she found with the light. In the next moment, Brigid longed to trade places with her brother Taran and glory in the sheer terribleness of what her soul could conjure.

  She had one person to blame for her current state of mixed up chaos—Micah. And when he returned from this date, he’d think twice about ever leaving her locked up with her mother’s spellbook again.

  He als
o better make damned certain he never failed to renew the ward on the scroll. Or for that matter her confinement. For the moment he did, she would be waiting. Ready to strike. Ready to destroy the one object that could cause her such anguish.

  Her attention snapped to the window at the rumble of an engine pulling into the castle’s parking lot. Micah, back so soon? Her heartbeat accelerated.

  By the sacred elements she despised the power he had over her. Not just his magical strength or his ability with the ancient arcane. But him, the man. The way one look at his rumpled dark hair had her wanting to drag her fingers through it. The way she ached to kiss that smirk off his face.

  And she’d seen too much of Micah’s smirk lately. He goaded her like it was his singular pleasure. Like he couldn’t wait to deliver the next blow that would leave her seething in frustration.

  Worse, somehow he had gained the ability to see inside her and learn things he shouldn’t know. Things she’d kept even from her own family. Things she couldn’t admit in the deepest, darkest recesses of her soul.

  Micah had no right to those secrets.

  She clenched her teeth as one hand gripped the edge of her chair. He took entirely too much for granted, seemingly under the belief that their long-time friendship afforded him liberties no one had been entitled to for centuries. Between the afternoon of frustrations and the despicable present of her mother’s scroll, Brigid’s patience had worn out. She was sick of the games, sick of being treated like an insignificant child, sick of…everything.

  As the sound of soft whistling within the stairwell struck her ears, she rose from her seat and eyed the door, calculating the moment he would walk through the entry. Power built in her veins as she murmured a deadly incantation in her native Selgovae tongue. Her nerves sizzled with the sheer terribleness of dark designs.

  She let it waft through her veins, embracing the part of her soul that demanded Micah pay for the way he trivialized her abilities. The conflict in her soul ebbed by several degrees. He didn’t deserve her temperance. She’d tolerated far more than she would have allowed another mortal, and tonight, Micah would remember she was, in all ways, her father’s daughter.

  As the desire to deal him physical harm spread into a dark need, her fingers began to tingle. One push of her nature into his soul wouldn’t kill him, but by the sacred elements, it would get her point across.

  She braced for imminent conflict. Bit back a smile as his inevitable look of surprise rose in her mind’s eye.

  The door swung open and Micah stepped inside. His gaze landed on her, widened in a brief moment of surprise. Then, those green eyes lifted at the corners, and he gave her the full-out power of his devastating smile. “Hey, you.”

  To Brigid’s horror, the rise of righteous anger ebbed, and an entirely different sort of warmth infused her veins. The kind that came from her mother and could only damn her to a mortal grave. Regret launched through her body in the next heartbeat, and she turned away before he could notice the frustration in her expression.

  Damn it. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she ought to. She ought to want to rip out his eyes and stuff them down his throat so they could never again pierce her with that too-knowing light.

  Instead, all she wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and kiss him until the war between the two halves of her soul ceased.

  Which only pissed her off more. She turned away with a gruff, “Oh, it’s you.”

  Micah’s chuckle rasped pleasantly across her skin. “Expecting someone else?” His keys jangled as he dropped them on the table near the door.

  “One could hope.”

  “And here I came back early just to see you.”

  Her heart kicked into her ribs. Had he? No. She knew better than that. He was merely trying to provoke a reaction out of her. And damn it, it was working.

  Brigid gritted her teeth and strode for the window to look out at the waxing moon. “Why, so you could torture me with more of my mother’s things?”

  He ignored her remark and wandered into the tiny kitchenette. “Do you want some coffee? I’m craving caffeine.”

  “So did your date turn you out early? I can’t think of any other reason you’d be gone less than three hours.”

  “Three hours—you’re keeping track. Did you miss me, Brigid?”

  She scoffed, even as curiosity pulled her gaze sideways. He stood at the coffee pot, his back to her, corded muscles rippling beneath his T-shirt as he twisted to fill the carafe with water. A fission of excitement tripped through her belly.

  Stop it. He hates you. You hate him.

  “Should I take your silence as yes?” He glanced over his shoulder.

  She looked away quickly, but not before she caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. Which also meant he’d caught her watching him. Hells bells.

  “Take it as the question’s so ludicrous it’s not worth an answer.”

  The can of coffee hit the countertop a little too hard. “You’re in a mood.”

  “Always am when you’re around.” Wasn’t that the truth.

  A heavy sigh drifted to her ears. Metal clinked as he measured the grounds. Glass clunked as he tucked the carafe back in to the brew station. Plastic grated over the tile countertop.

  Heavy footsteps brought Micah back into the room, a few short feet behind her. “Any good movies on tonight?”

  “Check the television in your room.” For the first time since he’d entered, she braved the power of his stare and turned to face him. “Or maybe you came back early so you could torture me more with that damned scroll.” She gave him a sardonic smile and let out a short, derisive chortle. “What did your date think about you living with a demon?”

  Anger flickered across his face in the brief tightening of the corners of his mouth. With frighteningly level calm that belied his true fury, he asked, “What are you after, Brigid?”

  Chapter Five

  Micah resisted the pull of anger. Brigid was three steps away from the fight she so obviously wanted. Another remark like the one she’d just made, and she’d have it.

  “What am I after?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re the one who’s plotted against me all afternoon. Why?”

  “Plotted against you?” His voice rose, incredulous. “I didn’t do anything but bring you the scroll that fate would have you claim. You’re the one who touched it. You’re the one who almost attacked me earlier. You’ve been waspish since I walked through the door. Now tell me who has it in for whom.”

  Forcing Brigid to admit her wrongs or even her wrong assumptions was never a wise thing. But damn it, she’d pushed too far, hit too many buttons today. He couldn’t maintain the game of indifference any longer.

  On some instinctual level, he’d known his words would incite her further. Still, that gut awareness didn’t stop the momentary surprise Micah experienced when Brigid’s eyes flashed like wildfire. Nor did he anticipate the wave of energy that rolled off her long lean body and slammed into his chest. Not an attack, just the sheer force of her building fury.

  She took a step forward. In her splayed palm, power gathered. “You bring that thing into my home and call me waspish? I’ll show you a sting, Micah.”

  Micah eyed the building ball of energy. Two words would protect him from whatever she attempted. Another, the one he despised using, would terminate this argument in a heartbeat. But if he stopped her now, this inevitable battle would rear again. It had been coming for too long. Time to have it over and done with. If she meant to harm him, she better do so now, for he wouldn’t give her another opportunity.

  Straightening his shoulders, he sank his weight into his heels. “You’re pissed off at me because I made you confront what you want. But you’re too afraid of your father to listen to that part of your soul.”

  “I’m warning you, Micah, I’m not playing games.” Brigid cocked her arm, prepared to throw that pulsating ball of internal fire.

  “Go ahead.” He nodded at her hand. “I
don’t have any wards up. If you want to hurt me, now’s your chance. But make it good, Brigid. Make it hurt. Make it put me in my bed for a week, because I won’t give a coward a second shot.”

  Her hand moved in slow motion, arcing forward from her shoulder. The small ball of yellow-orange gathered against her curled fingers beat a bright light. Intense heat washed over his skin, forcing him to close his eyes.

  He braced for impact, knowing the energy she wielded so naturally would sear into his soul and scar him for life. Never before had he given a demon such opportunity. Never before had he issued a challenge he didn’t intend to override.

  In the next instant, every ounce of Brigid’s strength slammed through her fist and into the side of his jaw.

  Micah’s head snapped sideways. He staggered under the momentum of her strike, one knee nearly hitting the ground before he managed to put both legs under him once more. Stunned beyond all ability to reason, he whipped around to face her.

  Holy shit, the woman knew how to throw a punch.

  But why hadn’t she used her arcane strength?

  He barely had time to register the thought before his senses kicked in and he processed her posture—hand raised, fist balled, she poised for a second attack.

  Brigid lunged, and Micah caught her wrist. She let out a disparaging cry as he wrenched out of her reach and snagged her opposite wrist. Reflex fueled him forward, the ingrained habit to stop the immediate threat overriding all conscious action. He shoved her into the wall. Pinned her in place by leaning his full weight into her shaking body.

  “Get your hands off me!” She twisted and turned. Her eyes flashed with something very close to hate.

  Micah ignored the throbbing in the side of his face and leaned in closer. “I told you to make it count, Brigid. Now it’s my turn.” She kicked out a leg, and her thigh brushed the inside of his. He twisted his hips into hers, protecting himself as much as he thwarted her ability to move. “Only I’ll spare us both the lies. Part of you wants that scroll. You want it so damned much you can taste it. Somewhere along the way you forgot you’re immortal and your father can’t hurt you.”