Carnal Magic. Christine McKay

into her circle, he knelt down and picked up her coat. He held it out to her. She wrapped her arms around her chest and glared at him. He wasn’t a big man, but then again, she wasn’t exactly tiny, either. He wore all black, from the upturned collar of his leather duster to the toes of his boots peeking from beneath the well-cut fabric of his pants. In the moonlight, his hair and eyes appeared black, as well. Stubble dusted his jaw and chin.

      “You’re intruding on a private ceremony.”

      He held his gloved hands apart, her coat still dangling from one. “You called. I came.”

      Her cheeks burned. He’d watched the whole thing. A thousand curses came to mind, each one worse than the last. “You’re not my lover.”

      He tipped his head. “Are you certain?”

      Unsure, she snagged her coat from his outstretched hand. Her fingers were too numb to work the buttons. She wanted to scream in frustration. “Tell me something only he would know.”

      “He died in your arms, head resting in your lap. The driver that hit your car was drunk. Didn’t even know he hit anything.” He fingered the black cloth fluttering on the gravestone. “This is from the dress you were wearing.”

      That knowledge elevated him from common peeper to stalker. She didn’t even have her pepper spray on her. It was locked with her purse in the car. “Get away from me.” Her voice was hoarse. “I have a knife. I’ll scream.”

      He ignored her threats. “Your mentor should have taught you to clear your circle better.” Kneeling in the snow, he dug at the base of the gravestone.

      “Stay away from that.”

      He held up a limp plant, leaves shriveled with frostbite. “Nightshade.” He offered it to her.

      Death. She clutched her coat more tightly around her, teeth chattering. “What do you want?”

      He scooped up her flowers, strewn across the snow. Breaking the stem of the iris, he tossed it over his shoulder. “Reincarnation is overrated.” The clump of clematis was discarded next. “Soul mate. There’s no such thing.” Twirling the rose’s stem between his thumb and fingers, he studied it. “Ah, passion. There’s a thing every creature understands.”

      She should run. The ceremony was probably ruined, circle marred by another’s footsteps. Everything in her shoulder bag could be replaced. She tried to take a step. Her feet were frozen to the ground. A low whimper escaped from between her chattering teeth.

      “You noticed that? I apologize. I hate chasing, brings to mind the analogy of predator and prey.” He wrinkled his nose. “Most distasteful. And your circle’s not truly open yet.” He nodded toward the guttering candles.

      Victoria must have guessed her intentions. She’d been so careful, so certain she’d asked random innocuous questions. She’d never mentioned Tom, never spoke of the cemetery. “Did Victoria send you?”

      “Who?”

      “Victoria Ramlin. She owns The Coven.”

      Another nose wrinkle. “Ah, the witch queen. I told you, you called me.”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      “Just as you don’t believe I’m your lover reincarnated.”

      “No.”

      “He has no unfinished business, your Tom. You cannot call back those who do not wish to come.”

      “He left me behind.” Her nerves shattered. Hands clenched at her side, she screamed, “I’m his unfinished business!” Her voice was swallowed by the night. Shards of the vase scraped the edge of the granite, tinkling as they fell.

      Setting the rose on the gravestone, he stepped to her side. She had to tip her head back—she could at least move that—to gaze into his eyes. They weren’t really black, more a storm-ridden gray.

      “I’m afraid he doesn’t see it that way.” He reached for the edges of her coat and slowly did up the buttons. His gloved fingers brushed her throat as he secured the last button.

      “You lie.”

      For a moment, anger flashed, but it was quickly controlled. “That is one thing I do not do.” Stepping back, he picked up the cut-crystal glass. “His and your blood mingled. How trite.” He tipped the container upside down, spilling the liquid onto the snow.

      Her heart sank. There’d be no re-do. Everything she’d practiced and trained for was useless without his blood. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

      “It was your botch, not mine,” he retorted, a hint of heat in his voice. He examined the crystal. “Though I’m not certain it was entirely your fault.” Walking around her, he studied her. Her face burned.

      “You’ve kept yourself for him.”

      “There’s money in my purse. In my car, in the parking lot. The keys are in my bag.”

      He folded his hands, returning to stand in front of her. “I have no need of money.”

      “Then what in God’s name do you want?” She was crying now, shaking from fear and the cold.

      “I believe you invoked Persephone, not the Bright Lord or Lady.” He picked up the rose again, then executed a formal bow before her, at odds with his appearance. “I have a proposition for you. You seek passion. I am willing to offer it.”

      Her lip curled. “The love I knew died with Tom.”

      “I beg to differ. Three nights, Elaine Feller. For three nights I will pull passion from your veins. If, at its end, you can honestly say your Tom still arouses you as no other can, I will take you to him.” She started to speak, but he held up his hand. “But if I kindle that flame within you, you stay here and make no more futile attempts at resurrecting that which should be left to sleep.”

      “Have sex with you or be murdered? Gee, thanks, what a choice.”

      “It’s death you seek on a night like this standing skyclad in a cemetery.”

      “How do I know you can do what you say you can?”

      He stepped behind her, leaning over her to whisper in her ear, “What assurances do you need?” His arms circled her shoulders, one hand plucking the leather glove off the other, finger by finger, in front of her.

      She stared at his now bared hand. It was nothing but bone. A scream lodged in her throat, but she fought for control. “Neat trick.”

      “Touch it.”

      She raised a trembling hand. He linked his bony fingers with hers. The noise that escaped from her throat was part whimper, part moan. She could feel every joint, every bone. The skeletal hand closed around hers and brought both to her face. Bone brushed her numb lips.

      “Dear God,” she breathed.

      “God has nothing to do with this proposition.” His breath whispered across her cheek, warm despite the cold emanating from his hand.

      “You swear you’ll take me to Tom?”

      He released her hand. “If I fail.” It didn’t sound as if he thought failure a possibility.

      “And in return?”

      “Beg pardon?”

      “What do you get out of this little deal?”

      His eyes gleamed. He picked up the rose with his gloved hand and touched the petals with the skeletal one. All the petals dropped off the stem, spattering the snow like drops of blood. “The attentions of someone willing to die for her one true love.”

      Her jaw dropped open.

      “Ah, I may mock it, humans’ melodramatic nature, but there is a certain appeal.” His lips quirked. “To be loved so completely that another is willing to