hesitations. For the period of time he used his Summoning, she had willingly submitted to him. Her power, her rage , had evaporated.
Morgana simply smiled, easy for her since she’d been a Kinsman for centuries. “Some blossom faster than others,” she admitted, “but it is not a function of time. It is a function of inner strength, which differs for each of us. You’ll understand when the time comes.”
“Damn.” Rage frowned. “And there is no other way?”
Morgana hesitated.
Rage leaned forward. “There is another way?”
Morgana opened her mouth, paused, and then finally admitted, “There may be one other way. I am leery to even suggest it.”
“Suggest it.” Rage reached across the span separating them, and clasped Morgana’s hands. “Please. I am desperate.”
“Magic.”
Rage’s brows drew firmly together, her confusion obvious.
“Witch magic. Not vampire magic,” Morgana clarified.
Vampires and witches didn’t cross paths much, and both sides seemed to prefer it that way. Vampires didn’t consort with witches, werewolves, fey or other non-humankind. “Where would I find this…witch magic?
Morgana smiled softly.
* * * * *
One hour later, and one phone call to some mysterious source Morgana would not name, and Rage held a small potion vial in her hands. By itself the fluorescent purple liquid held no power. How she would come by a sample of Ripper’s blood to complete the potion remained to be solved. The tight outfit she’d picked to wear didn’t provide much in the way of hiding the vial either. Zipped into the front pocket of her stretchy pants, the vial made a noticeable bulge. She only hoped her tits and ass provided enough of a distraction to avoid notice of her only key for escape. Time was growing short. She’d just have to solve her problem later. There was another neck she needed to save first.
The basement-door guard slouched in a hardback kitchen chair, leaning back so the chair propped against the door and his long legs extended across the short hallway to brace against the opposite wall, keeping him at the carefree angle. He glanced up at Rage. It was Dean. His arm was lightly folded across his middle, his ribs probably still hurting. The bulk of the bandages wrapped around his chest ruined the perfect line of his muscle shirt. His bangs had fallen across his eyes again, as they seemed to do often, as if his own hair liked to caress his handsome face.
Dean twisted his wrist and checked his watch. “You’re up early.” He glanced up and smirked his pretty-boy smile. “Or did Ripper just keep you up late, lover?”
“Shut up.” How was it possible for her to truly like this pain in the ass? Even without the rage, she hated to smile at his annoying comments and encourage him, but smile she did. “I want to see Caden.”
Dean bent up his knees, making his jean-clad legs look so good in the tight denim, as he lowered the chair back to its feet. “ You going to kill him now?”
She frowned. She didn’t need someone else hounding her about making Ripper happy. “I’m going to see if he’s awake. And if he is, I’m going to talk with him.”
Getting to his feet, Dean moved the chair out of the way of the door. There was a touch of something in his voice. Concern, perhaps? Was he still afraid that Ripper might take his anger out on them all? “But you might kill him though, right? I mean, you’ve not ruled that out, right?”
“Dean,” she sighed, “just move .”
Dean frowned, trying for the hurt-little-boy look that almost made her laugh. “Don’t bite me. I was just asking.” He unlocked the door and held it open for Rage. Standing in the doorway himself, he didn’t give her enough room to pass without rubbing up against his body.
“You really want me to hurt you, don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow.
Offended, he straightened. “A man can’t hold a door for a lady?”
Rage stepped into the doorway, facing him so her body nuzzled against
Morgana simply smiled, easy for her since she’d been a Kinsman for centuries. “Some blossom faster than others,” she admitted, “but it is not a function of time. It is a function of inner strength, which differs for each of us. You’ll understand when the time comes.”
“Damn.” Rage frowned. “And there is no other way?”
Morgana hesitated.
Rage leaned forward. “There is another way?”
Morgana opened her mouth, paused, and then finally admitted, “There may be one other way. I am leery to even suggest it.”
“Suggest it.” Rage reached across the span separating them, and clasped Morgana’s hands. “Please. I am desperate.”
“Magic.”
Rage’s brows drew firmly together, her confusion obvious.
“Witch magic. Not vampire magic,” Morgana clarified.
Vampires and witches didn’t cross paths much, and both sides seemed to prefer it that way. Vampires didn’t consort with witches, werewolves, fey or other non-humankind. “Where would I find this…witch magic?
Morgana smiled softly.
* * * * *
One hour later, and one phone call to some mysterious source Morgana would not name, and Rage held a small potion vial in her hands. By itself the fluorescent purple liquid held no power. How she would come by a sample of Ripper’s blood to complete the potion remained to be solved. The tight outfit she’d picked to wear didn’t provide much in the way of hiding the vial either. Zipped into the front pocket of her stretchy pants, the vial made a noticeable bulge. She only hoped her tits and ass provided enough of a distraction to avoid notice of her only key for escape. Time was growing short. She’d just have to solve her problem later. There was another neck she needed to save first.
The basement-door guard slouched in a hardback kitchen chair, leaning back so the chair propped against the door and his long legs extended across the short hallway to brace against the opposite wall, keeping him at the carefree angle. He glanced up at Rage. It was Dean. His arm was lightly folded across his middle, his ribs probably still hurting. The bulk of the bandages wrapped around his chest ruined the perfect line of his muscle shirt. His bangs had fallen across his eyes again, as they seemed to do often, as if his own hair liked to caress his handsome face.
Dean twisted his wrist and checked his watch. “You’re up early.” He glanced up and smirked his pretty-boy smile. “Or did Ripper just keep you up late, lover?”
“Shut up.” How was it possible for her to truly like this pain in the ass? Even without the rage, she hated to smile at his annoying comments and encourage him, but smile she did. “I want to see Caden.”
Dean bent up his knees, making his jean-clad legs look so good in the tight denim, as he lowered the chair back to its feet. “ You going to kill him now?”
She frowned. She didn’t need someone else hounding her about making Ripper happy. “I’m going to see if he’s awake. And if he is, I’m going to talk with him.”
Getting to his feet, Dean moved the chair out of the way of the door. There was a touch of something in his voice. Concern, perhaps? Was he still afraid that Ripper might take his anger out on them all? “But you might kill him though, right? I mean, you’ve not ruled that out, right?”
“Dean,” she sighed, “just move .”
Dean frowned, trying for the hurt-little-boy look that almost made her laugh. “Don’t bite me. I was just asking.” He unlocked the door and held it open for Rage. Standing in the doorway himself, he didn’t give her enough room to pass without rubbing up against his body.
“You really want me to hurt you, don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow.
Offended, he straightened. “A man can’t hold a door for a lady?”
Rage stepped into the doorway, facing him so her body nuzzled against
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