Junga sucked in her breath. “You let her escape?”
She growled at Hur as she dug her nails into her human palms. “I send you to fetch a single witch and you could not perform such a simple task?”
He glanced at the other employees currently checking guests into the Marquis Hotel. One of the women looked at them, but quickly turned back to hand a guest his key card.
Junga lowered her voice but didn’t keep the scowl from her face. “The next time I send you after her, you had better not fail me.” She clasped her fingers around his wrist and allowed her magically-enhanced Fomorii claws to lengthen just enough to pierce his soft skin. “Darkwolf wants her.”
He winced but held still. “I understand, ceannaire.”
Still seething, Junga retracted her claws and strode toward the ballroom. When she walked into the room, she looked at the witches kept behind Darkwolf’s powerful shield of magic. The warlocks were not contained, but they were not allowed to leave the ballroom, except for the high priest. Junga wished they had all thirteen warlocks instead of having dined upon the unfortunate few.
Darkwolf and Bane were talking just feet away from the shielded witches. “I can get none of the witches to cooperate,” Bane said through clenched human teeth as she approached.
“What about that one?” Junga indicated a strong-looking female witch clothed in an iridescent robe that shimmered beneath the lights. She had a proud tilt to her head and an expression of fury on her face. In her multicolored apparel, and with her fierce look, she stood out among the other somewhat blander candidates.
Bane gave a stiff nod of his human head. “I will retrieve the prisoner and bring her to you.”
Junga simply focused on the witch who refused to lower her gaze or turn away. This one was full of spirit—spirit that Junga had every intention of turning to her own advantage. Rage, willfulness, pride—all of those qualities made a witch vulnerable, with the right shaping.
When he reached the force field, Bane looked to Darkwolf. The warlock held up his hands and his dark eyebrows narrowed in concentration. Purple light spilled from his palms as he projected his energy through the shield. Thick purple ropes lashed around the witch, binding her hands to her sides so that she could not use her magic. Fortunately, these witches had to use their hands and were not capable of mind incantations.
The high priest used a pushing motion with his hand and the shield bowed inward until it passed around the witch and refastened behind her so that she stood alone. Her eyes were angry, defiant, as Bane grasped her upper arm.
He dragged her so that she stumbled across the ballroom floor until she stood mere inches from Junga. Bane took the witch’s shoulders in a firm grip, forcing her to stay in place.
The interesting captive said nothing, simply stared at Junga. With a cold smile, Junga reached out and caught the witch by her chin. Again she followed Elizabeth’s instincts. She brought her mouth to the witch’s and slowly licked her lips.
The witch jerked her head back, but Junga tightened her grip, and Bane didn’t let her shoulders go. Junga bit the witch’s lip and she cried out in surprise. Junga enjoyed breaking through the haughty witch’s reserve with the unwelcome kiss.
Junga raised her head and lightly stroked her fingers over the witch’s cheek. The woman had a look of revulsion upon her face. “I believe I heard one of the others call you Rhiannon, yes?” Junga trailed her hand down the woman’s throat until her fingers grasped the witch’s neck. “Of course it is so. I have a perfect memory. You are Silver’s friend.”
Rhiannon continued to glower at Junga, her green eyes flashing with fire, but kept her silence.
The Fomorii’s smile grew colder. “Tell me how to draw out this witch. Tell me where to find Silver.”
The woman finally spoke, slowly and deliberately, as if addressing a simpleton. “May the Ancestors banish you back to Underworld.”
Junga reacted immediately, as Elizabeth would have. She drew her hand back and slapped Rhiannon so hard the witch’s head snapped to the side. A white handprint remained and quickly turned to red. It would no doubt become a healthy bruise. Rhiannon slowly turned back to face Junga, her features almost expressionless, as if the slap had meant nothing.
A low, fierce growl rose in the Fomorii legion leader and her own instincts took over. Her fingers elongated into claws. The new magic from Queen Kanji’s blacksmith flashed at the claw tips. Her teeth lengthened long enough to pierce her tongue. The taste of blood flooded her mouth and she had the intense desire to eat this bitch, to devour her while she still lived.
She slashed her claws across the other side of Rhiannon’s face, slicing four perfect lines through the thin flesh of the witch’s cheek. This time Rhiannon shouted her surprise and pain, then bit her lip as if to hold back any more cries. Blood welled in the cuts and dripped down the witch’s face. And the cuts—they seemed to burn into the witch’s face. Perhaps witches were vulnerable to iron, as well?
With all her strength, Junga regained control of herself before she destroyed the witch. Her claws slowly retracted back into her human fingers, and her teeth returned to their human size.
She curled her lips as a thought occurred to her. She leaned forward and lapped at Rhiannon’s cheek, the taste of the witch’s hot blood pleasant on her tongue. She licked the witch’s lips next, spreading the red fluid across her mouth.
Junga drew back. Irritation flashed through her when Rhiannon did not so much as flinch. But it pleased Junga to see blood flowing freely down the witch’s cheek, to her neck, to splatter onto her colorful robe.
“You will be of great use to me.” Junga gave her a wicked smile. “I know exactly how you will assist me in capturing the witch.”
Not even a flicker of concern passed over Rhiannon’s features and Junga wanted to lash out at her again. Perhaps this time opening her throat.
Instead, Junga gestured toward Bane to return Rhiannon to the magical holding cell, Darkwolf assisting with his magic. Rhiannon’s bonds were released and Junga smiled when she saw the witch rub the blood from her mouth and cheek with her sleeve.
The next few moments went quickly as a red-scaled shape-shifting Basilisk and a Fomorii warrior were stationed at the doors and lights dimmed for the night. Still furious, Junga caught the attention of the Balorite high priest, who was speaking with Za in one corner of the room. She slowly perused the warlock whose Balorite name was Darkwolf.
She motioned for the warlock and Bane to accompany her into the quiet hotel lobby. “Follow me,” she ordered the two males. She had to work off her anger and frustration so she could think clearly. She knew exactly how to do it. She’d wanted this for so long. Needed it.
Bane was still in human form as she had not instructed him to return to his natural state. Not one of her legion mates would do anything without her instruction.
Darkwolf kept his expression blank, yet she swore she saw a knowing glitter in his eyes.
The heels of her blood-red stilettos clicked across the marble floor of the hotel lobby toward the bank of elevators as they threaded their way through several of the hotel guests. The heels matched the tailored suit Elizabeth had been wearing when Junga had taken over the woman’s body, mind, and soul. Bane still wore the expensive suit of his host. The warlock had donned his usual black robe.
Junga led the males into the elevator and up to Elizabeth’s penthouse on the top floor. She keyed in the entry code, then strode into the sumptuous suite with its thick white carpet, black furnishings, and freeform works of art. She sank into the exquisite leather of one of the black couches and crossed her elegant legs. The short skirt of her suit slid up her thighs in an enticing manner. Every instinct ingrained in Elizabeth’s body and mind came automatically and naturally to Junga.
Elizabeth’s essence even relished Junga’s rage, and her blood pounded all the harder because of the sensations associated with the emotion. Heat. Strength. Violent urges not unlike bloodlust. Junga knew she had to relieve the fury, and she knew how she planned to calm the raging beast within her.
“Strip,” she ordered the two males.
Without question, Bane removed his clothing, from his suit jacket and shirt, to his shoes, socks, belt, trousers, and boxers. Junga’s host body reacted immediately to the sight of him. Elizabeth had considered him a perfect male specimen.
She turned to the warlock. His arms crossed his chest, a dominating glint in his eyes. “Remove your clothing,” he demanded in a tone that shocked Junga. She’d never been spoken to that way—ever. But somehow it turned her on.
She hesitated, but then drew on her authority. “Watch yourself, warlock. Because I am in the mood to play, I will allow this game to continue. But do not overstep your boundaries.”
He slowly approached her, like a wolf pacing its prey, his dark eyes glittering.
Junga shivered with lust. What harm could it do? If the man annoyed her too much, she would eat him, useful or not. Eye or no eye.
“Now,” he commanded, and his dark power emanated off him in waves.
Her heart pounded as she slipped off the red heels and stood. She was shorter and smaller than the males. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned, then slid off the tailored suit jacket to reveal her satin bra. Vaguely she was aware of Bane, and a part of her wondered what he would think of her allowing herself to be dominated. But all thought fled her mind as desire rushed through her at the hungry look in Darkwolf’s gaze.
“Hurry,” he demanded, and she rushed to unfasten her skirt and let it drop to the carpet. The warlock’s eyes burned through her as she removed the bra and shimmied out of the garters and the tiny scrap of panties.
When she was naked, she enjoyed the rush of cool air over her body, the silken feel of it on her human skin, and her long black tresses caressing her shoulders and back.
The warlock gave a soft murmur of approval. He slowly walked around her and she shivered from the heat of his gaze.
These human bodies might be pathetic in many ways, but the sensual feelings she experienced were so much stronger now than when they were in Fomorii form. It had been centuries since they had been exiled to Underworld. Centuries since she had taken over other beings. She truly hadn’t realized just how much she had missed sex in another creature’s body.
The heat of her anger returned, and she needed immediate fulfillment. Without ceremony, she shoved the Balorite warlock backward. Darkwolf looked enraged, but Junga didn’t care. He winked out of her consciousness like a distant star.
And then it became a blur of lips, tongues, hands, bodies. The men took her and she took them, until she all but lost herself. Everything was so wild, so strong, that she saw sparks in her head and felt them throughout her host body.
She was left limp, sated, barely able to think beyond the trembling of her limbs and the spinning of her thoughts.
A very female human sensation overtook her, as if she were bonded with these two males. What did they think of her? What did they think of her body?
Horror at the weakness of her thoughts caused her world to darken and she tumbled closer to the abyss. She sagged against the men, clinging to the last shreds of consciousness until she could do nothing but let it slip away.