Fatal Temptation: Between Two Alphas novel Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

JACE

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I glance at the winding road and the guardhouse at the base of the hill. Mansions dot the hillside all the way up into this gated community. Modern homes with walls of glass and infinity pools, chalet-style designs and a couple homes that look like Italian villas plucked from Tuscany and dropped onto these exclusive streets.

But it isn’t the fancy houses, or the gates surrounding the community that give me pause.

It’s the magical wards in place that lift up from the ground in a transparent sheet. My wolf eyes see it–our eyes have nine times more rods than cones, so our grayscale vision far surpasses humans. It isn’t just the magic, but the actual energy I can see, shimmering in a veil that would prove impossible to pass through, which means any thoughts I had of a covert arrival are pretty much shot to shit.

Fine.

Fuck it.

I drive up to the guardhouse and roll down the window.

The witch slowly slides open hers. “I’m sure this is going to be good.”

She’s mid-twenties, with dark brown skin and flawless hair. She could be a model or actress or some powerful, centuries old which stuck here for some infraction. Who knows?

“I’m here to see Morgan Devereaux. I’m a friend of Mia Riorsen.”

“A friend, you say?” she scoffs. “I doubt that.”

Her dark eyes hold contempt. Maybe they all know what we did to Mia. Part of me is glad she found friends, people to defend her.

The other half of me is plain pissed.

One witch was deadly enough.

Taking on this whole coven–which Jacob relayed was who lived in this swanky little subdivision–that was suicidal.

“Mia is injured. And she needs help,” that much was true. “If you and your sisters are her friends, then you need to let me through.”

She purses her lips. A butterfly lands near the booth and she talks to it–whispering in some ancient tongue. Then the little bug flits off, like some message-carrying moth in Lord of the Rings.

“Please,” I say again. “She needs your help.”

I watch her deliberate for several seconds.

“It’s not my call,” she finally says.

But then her cell phone beeps and she looks at the screen. Her lips curve into a dangerous smile. “Hmm. Looks like you’re in luck. Go on up.”

Something about the way she says ‘luck’ makes me think I’m anything but.

“Number 13.”

I slide back into the car and wait for the gate to rise. Then, like the parting of a waterfall, the veil of magic lifts up. I accelerate up the mountainside. This really is prime real estate and the homes are spaced wide apart, something you never really see in California where space is at such a premium.

My wolf Thane prowls beneath my skin. He hates this place and is very unsettled at the thought of us heading into the heart of a coven. Can’t say I’m crazy about this plan either.

But desperate times and all that…

When I reach Mia’s witch-friend’s home, the door is open.

A tall, striking woman stands at the entryway, her arms crossed. She wears skinny jeans and a white blouse. She looks stylish and wealthy and flawless. Her hair is a big tumble of strawberry blonde curls and her eyes are pale. She wears only lipstick, a bright reddish color and it draws all my attention to her mouth.

She smirks.

Like the witch in the guardhouse, I suspect I “amuse” her.

“Morgan, I presume.”

“You do realize the risk you’re taking coming here.”

“I do.” It’s why I had to come alone. There was always the chance–and a high one at that–that this witch would kill any enemies on sight.

“Wonderful. Then let me make this simple for you, wolf. You have two options. One, you turn right around, get back in your car and drive yourself back across the country. Or two, I make you get back in your car and drive back across the country. And I warn you, it’s very likely you’ll drive off a cliff along the way.”

I open my mouth ready to argue with her, when there’s a shatter from somewhere in the house followed by a child’s scream.

Morgan spins and runs inside.

I follow.

At a glance my mind registers the details of the room. Oversized white linen furniture. House plants and accent walls. For as modern as the outside of this house appears, the inside is warm, cozy, with artwork and colorful blankets and lots of decorative glass.

I run into the kitchen to see one such glass piece shattered all over the floor.

A young girl stands in the middle of the colorful shards. “I told you it would work,” she says proudly.

“It would’ve been easier to just go outside.” This from the young boy who is now behind me.