Sinfully Spellbound (Spells That Bind Book 1) (9 page)

That stupid fucking cunt! I had no idea how she’d done it,
but I knew that bitch was responsible for my arm catching fire. I was lucky to
have gotten it out before the flames spread to the rest of my body. Now, I was
sitting at home, picking bits of fabric out of my charred skin. The pain was
excruciating, and I had every intention of making her pay for this. That bitch
would think what happened to the others was nice compared to what I did to her.
I was in so much fucking pain, my dick was still limp while thinking about
torturing her. Oh, yeah, that bitch was going to regret this.

When my phone buzzed, I was tempted to ignore it, but I
already knew who was calling. I did not want to talk to that arrogant prick
right now, but if I didn’t answer, he’d come over here, and I really didn’t
want him seeing me weak like this.

“There won’t be a ceremony tonight,” I snapped as soon as I
answered his call. No reason for small talk.

“You do realize that we need to finish the spell within
three moon cycles or it won’t work, right?” he asked, sounding annoyingly calm.

“I know how the fucking spell works!” I gritted out. “We
still have two weeks left of the second moon cycle. That’s plenty of time. It
was stupid to try to grab a succubus tonight, anyway. The plan was to wait
longer between each one, and we should have stuck with that plan.”

“I’m well aware of the plan,” he said, starting to sound
angry. “As I recall, you were the one who insisted on changing the timeline for
this next kill. It seems you screwed up. I just want to know if this is going
to interfere with our timeline.”

Oh, how I wanted to flay the skin from his body with a dull
knife. How dare he act like I didn’t know how important it was to complete the
ritual? I, of all people, knew what had to be done and the timeline we needed
it done in. I didn’t see that snarky little bastard out getting his hands
dirty. The problems tonight weren’t my fault. That bitch was to blame.

“Are you still there?” he asked.

“Yes,” I bit out. “I was just waiting for you to finish your
useless rant. While I understand that you’re anxious to get this done, there’s
no reason to panic. I’ll just have to get this succubus another time.”

“Find another succubus,” he ordered. “It was foolish trying
to take two so close to Spellbinders, anyway. What if the police had been
watching the club to see if someone would target the succubi there? Just let
this one go and move on.”

“I want this one,” I snapped. No way was I letting her get
away.

“Does she know you tried to take her?” he asked.

“Yes,” I reluctantly admitted. “Somehow, the little cunt set
my fucking arm on fire.”

“Really?” He sounded intrigued. “How did she manage that?”

“How the fuck should I know?” I asked through my teeth. Pain
was making me even less tolerant of his stupid questions.

“Are you sure she’s a succubus?” he asked.

“Positive,” I said. “She works at SpellBinders.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and I
was tempted to hang up and focus on my arm, when he finally spoke. “We can go
after her, but we need to work on the other succubus first. Try to be smarter
about who you select this time,” he advised before hanging up.

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered as I tossed the phone across
the room. If I didn’t need him so much, I’d kill him.

As I continued working on my arm, I fantasized about all the
ways I could make that bitch pay for the pain she was putting me through.

Waking up in Dylan’s arms could become an addiction, and
that was something I could not allow to happen. Things were already complicated
enough in my life without adding a warlock to it. Most witches would be using
this to try to trap Dylan into marriage. One thing I’d learned the hard way was
how mercenary witches were about their hierarchy. Marrying Dylan would raise
many witches’ stations. Trevor had the same problem, and it was why he ended up
with so many witches who changed as soon as they started dating him.

I hadn’t exactly lied to Dylan last night when he’d asked
about my witch heritage, but I’d certainly avoided answering his question
completely. There was no missing the tension in Dylan’s body when we’d talked
about me being a witch. He’d probably been wondering if I was playing some game
to trick him. Dylan didn’t know me well enough to know if I was one of the many
witches trying to elevate their standing among the Council of Witches. Telling
him who my father was would alleviate those worries, but it would add new worries
about my father demanding an affinity test—something my dad would never do.

My phone vibrated in my purse, so I worked to extricate
myself from Dylan’s hold—not an easy task. He grumbled, and his arms tightened
around my waist.

“I need to get my phone,” I told him. “It might be my mom,
and she’ll panic if I don’t answer.” There was also the possibility that it was
Delilah. While she’d texted to tell me she’d gotten safely to her mom’s, I’d
expected more communication from her last night since her mom was probably
freaking out about the murders and insisting she never return to the human
college.

Dylan let me out of bed, and I rushed to my purse, but I was
too slow and the call went to voicemail. With any luck, my mom wouldn’t call
Delilah to find out where I was, because I’d rather my mother not hear about
what had happened from Delilah. My roommate would make the whole thing sound
worse than it was, and my mother would freak out.

“Crap,” I said when I saw who the missed call was from. As
if my thoughts had conjured this mess, things were probably about to get even
more complicated.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart,” Dylan asked in a sleepy voice,
one lock of hair falling over his left eye.

“My dad was calling,” I said, not at all sure how I was
going to handle this conversation. “I need to call him back before he worries
and casts a tracing spell,” I explained before realizing how telling that was.
Only a few witches had the power to cast tracing spells. Trevor and my father
were the only ones I knew.

“Tracing spell?” Dylan asked. He narrowed his eyes, and his
voice lost that sleepy quality.

“Yeah, he’s kind of overprotective,” I said as I slipped on
my sweatpants and fled downstairs with my phone so my dad wouldn’t hear Dylan
in the background. While he accepted that I was a succubus, he still preferred
that I not talk about sex with him.

I called my father’s number, hoping he wouldn’t have had
time to cast the tracing spell. If the police had figured out who I was, they
would have called my father, something I hadn’t even considered last night. In
my defense, I’d been exhausted and not thinking straight.

“Where are you, Alana?” my father asked by way of greeting,
and I had a sinking suspicion he already knew where I was, but I still held out
hope that he simply knew I wasn’t at my apartment.

“There was a problem when I left work last night, so I
stayed with a friend,” I told him, feeling very much like a little girl who was
about to be scolded.

“I am already aware of that,” my father said, sounding
annoyed. “Imagine how upset I was when the investigators contacted me to tell
me what had happened to my daughter.”

“Technically, nothing happened,” I foolishly argued.

“From what I understand, someone tried to kill you, and you
wouldn’t have been their first victim,” he stated, sounding much too
reasonable. “All of this happened because you insist on working at that
establishment.”

Apparently, we weren’t just going to discuss where I was, or
even what had happened. Nope, we were going to discuss my lifestyle, which my
father had never approved of.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I have a job,” I said as calmly
as I could manage under the circumstances.

“One of your sisters could get you a job,” he insisted.

“Yes, I’m sure my sisters would love working with me,” I
snapped. “They’d really appreciate the reminder that their father couldn’t keep
it in his pants and ruined his marriage to their mother by screwing a succubus.
Even if it weren’t for the fact that it would be horribly awkward working with
my half-sisters, I am a succubus. Sending me to a witch school didn’t change
that, and pretending I’m not won’t change that, either, so get used to it.”

“Pretending that’s all you are, or throwing a temper
tantrum, won’t change the fact that you are half-witch—a very powerful one at
that,” he said in a patient voice. “I understand your life isn’t easy, and I
realize I’m partly to blame for that. I love you, and hearing that I’d almost
lost you last night took at least a century off my life.” My dad’s voice
sounded somewhat choked.

Now, I felt really bad about not calling either of my
parents. I hadn’t been thinking straight, but I could see why my dad was so
upset with me for not calling him. I could also see why he didn’t want me
working at SpellBinders, even if I didn’t have any other options at the moment.

“Open the front door, Alana,” my dad said after a long pause
in the conversation.

This was bad, and I had the insane idea that this might be a
dream, so I reached down and pinched myself. It hurt, and I was still standing
in Dylan’s living room with my father waiting to be let in.

“Is there a reason you’re pinching yourself?” Dylan asked.

I turned to find Dylan standing in the entryway to his front
room in nothing but a pair of jeans with his arms crossed in front of his
chest. One eyebrow rose as he waited for my answer. This was definitely going
to get ugly.

“My father is at your front door,” I told Dylan in a voice
that was a little more high-pitched than I’d expected it to be.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, and I couldn’t read him.

“I don’t know. He’s not violent or anything like that, but
you know how warlocks can be,” I said before realizing how rude that sounded
when I was talking to a warlock, but it was too late to take it back now.

Dylan said nothing, merely stepped forward to open the front
door. He stared at my father for a moment before looking over his shoulder with
an expression that proved he was not at all happy about discovering who my dad
was. Stepping back, he allowed my father to enter the room.

“Julian Talbot,” my dad said by way of introduction, as if
every witch and warlock wouldn’t recognize him on sight.

My dad was a handsome warlock, with neatly trimmed blond
hair, pale blue eyes, and a lean muscular build. At nearly six and a half feet
tall, he towered over most people. He was also a very high-ranking warlock, and
a man-whore from the accounts of his ex-wife and the slew of women he’d slept
with over the years. To the best of my knowledge, I was the only child
conceived from one of his affairs.

“Dylan Hunt,” Dylan said with a nod.

After one stern glare cast in Dylan’s direction, my dad’s
face softened, and he moved forward to wrap me in his arms. “I was terrified
when I heard what had happened to you,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you come to
me?”

Pulling back, I put some distance between my father and me
before I did something embarrassing like weeping in his arms. While my
relationship with my dad was complex, he loved me and I felt the same about
him.

“Things happened so quickly that I didn’t have much time to
think about what I was going to do,” I explained. “I was walking to my car when
I heard someone following me. That’s when Dylan called, which is good because
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have made it to my car before the guy caught up with
me.”

At the mention of Dylan’s name, my dad’s eyes narrowed, and
he turned to glare at Dylan, who glared right back.

Oh, yeah, this was going really well—not!

“Long story short, Dylan was able to cast a fire spell
remotely, and he called the police. After I talked to the police, Dylan made me
come back here. It was late, and I didn’t think beyond getting some sleep,” I
continued, now babbling because, even though I was a succubus, I didn’t want to
tell my dad about my sex life—not that there’d been any sex last night. No sex
at Dylan’s house, at least.

My dad was scowling at Dylan, and I could tell he wasn’t
sure how he felt about Dylan’s involvement with me. If Dylan hadn’t saved my
life, he’d likely be seriously pissed about it because Dylan had his own
reputation. “How did you meet my daughter?”

“We went to school together,” I told my father. While that
wasn’t the answer to his question, it also wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t sure when I’d
developed this new skill for not exactly answering questions to avoid lying.

“We met at a friend’s house,” Dylan said. “While I did
attend school with Allie, I don’t think I talked to her back then. I was three
grades ahead of her, and I was an asshole.”

My dad nodded and waited for further explanation.

“It was a fling,” I said, which made both Dylan and my
father scowl even more. If I were smart, I’d keep my mouth shut for the rest of
the day because I kept making things worse.

“Tell me, Dylan—were you aware that Alana was my daughter?
Did you know she was a witch at all when you slept with her?” My dad sounded
pretty calm, all things considered.

Dylan shook his head. While he was answering my father, his
eyes focused on me. “She didn’t mention any of that to me. I only recently
learned she’s a witch.”

“Because we were having a one-night stand!” I practically
shouted. “We didn’t need to have some long discussion about how my father’s
infidelities led to him screwing a succubus who wanted to have a baby. That’s
not the kind of conversation you have during a one-night stand.”

“I don’t have one-night stands with witches,” Dylan said
angrily. His jaw was clenched so tightly, I was worried it might snap, and his
anger
really
pissed me off.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he suddenly
telling me he was done with me because of who my father was? Unable to handle
the pain that thought brought, I turned my back on both of them. “I’m going to
gather my things, and then I’m going home. I forgot my father is wealthy enough
to pay for the best bodyguards money can buy.”

Without waiting for either of them to respond, I swept past
Dylan, made my way up the stairs and into his bedroom, and slammed the door
behind me. There was this voice in the back of my head that kept telling me I
was picking a fight with Dylan because I was afraid of what was happening
between us. Dylan seemed just as confused by what was happening, and I wasn’t
being fair. Still, I couldn’t deal with any of that yet. Later, I would think
about what was happening with Dylan. For now, I was going home.