Date: Sun, 13 Feb 2005 18:08:16 +0800
From: paul sung <psun@hotmail.com>
Subject: Magic

DISCLAIMER
==========

This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights
(copyright (c) 2005 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not
copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this
disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:

- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.

And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to
psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit
my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002


It wasn't everyone who sympathized with a movie character but I did.
After watching X-Men for the third time, I totally empathized with the
poor red headed telepath who had her head battered with the thoughts of
others. After all, I knew exactly the burden she was under. It wasn't
easy having other people's thoughts pounding in your head all day long.

There was no one else in mine right now. Far from going crazy, I didn't
hear voices when I stood in my kitchen alone. If I concentrated hard
enough, I might get some vibes here and there but I'd learned early on
not to press too hard. Like the proverbial Pandora's box, some thoughts
were better left untapped. I'd learned the hard way that some things were
better left alone. Taking up the half empty coffee cup I'd poured earlier
to accompany my mini movie marathon, I crossed from the living room down
the hallway to the kitchen.

Another point of similarity that I had with the telepath was the crazed
wolverine that was after me. Something I'd better shove to the back of my
mind if I wanted to maintain my sanity. It was already tough enough
trying to keep other people's thoughts out without obsessing about a
certain dark-haired bonafide hunk with an insane murderous side to him.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons why I lived in solitude so far out of
town. It couldn't technically be called a town since the small town
boasted only 1000 citizens at last count if any. Hicksville,
Nowheresville, Clayton had called it in frank derision. A zealously
dedicated city boy, he didn't care much for small communities. But that
was just the way I liked it. Unlike my last apartment in New York where I
had at least a dozen other tenants on the same floor as me, my closest
neighbour now lived more than a mile away. Close enough for a yell if I
ever needed their help and yet far enough not to burden me with their
incessant thoughts. Every once in a while in the spirit of
neighbourliness, Mrs Johnson would come by with a freshly baked pie and I
reciprocated by occasionally babysitting for their youngest, boisterous
little Luke. It was no hardship caring for the youngster whose thoughts
were as bright and innocent as the summer sunshine.

Spying from the kitchen windows, I could just almost see the top of the
Johnson's cottage as I washed the coffee mug. Such enforced solitude
would drive practically anyone insane but it suited me far better than
living in a crowded city. That was one early experiment that had turned
out a disastrous failure. Granted though it had been years before I'd
gained the mastery and experience I needed to handle my burgeoning
powers. Since I'd gained some measure of control over my abilities,
living in the city now certainly wouldn't have much effect on me but I
figured caution should be the operative word here.

With my heritage, it hadn't come as a surprise that I'd develop some
powers that would seem extraordinary to normal human beings. Compared to
some of the more bizarre powers supernaturals could receive, having
telepathy seemed like a pretty good deal. It certainly beat getting
incinerating hands or green horns on the head. Coupled with the magic I'd
inherited from my mother, they packed quite a lethal combination. There
were no traces of psychic abilities in any of the branches of the family
and yet I had them in spades, a genetic fluke born of two disparate yet
similar races.

Sorcerers and witches. Quite literally especially when it pertained to my
history, the Montagues and Capulets of the supernatural world. And
following the routine of that well-known romance, I had been the product
of the love between Romeo and Juliet. Not that my mother would ever see
herself in the humiliating role of the tragic heroine. Once she'd
foreseen the disastrous consequences of my remaining in the hands of my
father's family, she'd made a disappearance worthy of Houdini himself. If
they even had an inkling of her intentions, the Cabal certainly wouldn't
have let a direct scion of one of their own escape without some form of
retribution but my mother hide herself well - and my father helped her do
so.

My mother's elder sister, Hester, a high-ranking member of the Coven, had
elected to come with us into hiding and together, the two sisters had
brought me up in relative obscurity of Black Falls. Ironically, the
tragedy that would befall us came not as a result of their unholy tryst
but of something else entirely.

It had been two months since my aunt had died and my mother left close to
dead. Slaughtered was more like it. Slashed and torn to pieces by a
creature born of legend yet one that I'd seen with my very own eyes.
Hester Blackwell hadn't had much of a chance dealing with what she had.
Protective crystals and spells to light candles at home didn't hold up
well to the sharp claws of a werewolf. Anyone else would scorn the
existence of such a creature of nightmare as the fodder for trashy
tabloids but who was I to disbelieve. A son of a witch and a sorcerer.

Even now, I found it hard to believe the events that had rocked my
well-ordered life just recently. Trying to escape the reach of the
Cabals, my mother had brought us to a small town on the edge of nowhere,
opened up a small bookstore and cafe to sustain our activities. Aunt
Hester had gone into publishing the town's small paper with a small
weekly column of her own on the various usage of herbs and spices.
Hester's Pestle, she called it. Till about two months ago, we'd lived in
relative obscurity, far away from the all-seeing eyes of the Cabal.

As I moved back to the living room, I noticed the small scrapbook I'd
kept detailing the events after Aunt Hester's gruesome death. It didn't
take long for the tabloids to catch hold of such titillating news. News
of her sudden mysterious death scattered all over the front pages had
brought my father knocking on my door with a cavalcade of his men. It
seemed that he had kept close tabs on me since the day she'd walked out
the door - and she'd sent letters for every month of the year about our
progress. Together they'd made a pact that he would never contact or find
us - and he'd faithfully kept his side of the bargain as she had.

Against my will, almost kicking and screaming, he'd dragged us both home
to New York. In that city, the powerbase of his Cabal, they were
inassailable. The Sopranos, I called them... and my own father was the
Godfather. Laughable though the term might be, it was all too chillingly
true as I soon found out.

One would imagine that my brothers would not be pleased to welcome
someone new to the family, someone who could possibly take away a
generous chunk of their billion-dollar pie but I'd clearly underestimated
the value of blood ties to these people. Encroaching bastard foundling I
might have been but I was still blood. Not only had they welcomed me with
open arms, they'd been all too eager to thrust me into a role that I had
no intentions of claiming. Brought up by a mother who regularly
championed various environmental causes close to her heart, planted her
own organic vegetables and made scented candles for sale in her small
store, it was small wonder that I balked at the idea of joining a
wealthy, multinational corporation that thrived on materialism and
exploitation. Of course that didn't mean that some of them hadn't enjoyed
the task of persuading me to join the dark side as I called it.

Yet it was that very same wealth that had placed my mother in the care of
very best hospitals and she was even now recuperating in one of their
expensive facilities. I placed the scrapbook back down on the table and
picked up the bookmark I'd recently used. My father's calling card. No, I
wasn't being entirely fair to him. Father had been kind to me, although
it soon became clear to me that he was as baffled by me as he probably
had been by my mother. There was love there, still new to the both of us
and it unsettled me more than it did him. For Antonio Morelli, I'd always
been his son, no matter the length of time that had separated us making
us almost strangers to one another.

I smiled to myself as I imagined my parents together right now. No doubt
they were arguing as they had done the first day my father had come
knocking on the door. Circumstances back then might have kept them apart
but that certainly didn't mean there wasn't a palpable spark between the
two. It was difficult trying to imagine my mother being in love again but
my father's presence had certainly lightened some of the grief she'd felt
at her sister's passing.

Another card slipped out from the pages of the scrapbook and as I leaned
down to pick it up, I felt a slight shiver. This card was solid matte
black with gold letterings etched across the plain border. Stylish and
yet almost spartan in its simplicity. Clayton James never felt the need
for fancy stylings when he already made a pretty good impression all by
himself.

Despite my earlier misgivings, I had to admit that he had made an
impression on my heart. The first of my father's envoys after my aunt's
death, he'd remained unerringly attached to my side till a few days ago
when I'd managed to give him the slip. Leaving him hadn't been that
simple for me. I certainly hadn't been immune to his dangerous good looks
and his masculine charm, a fatal error when it came to an ambitious man
like Clayton. Staying there with him by my side started feeling like
torture especially when I found myself falling helplessly in love with
him. Better that I get some space between us to reorganize my thoughts.

There was an electric tingle at the base of my neck long before I heard
him coming. Some would call it a hunch or a gut feeling. There was no way
in hell I'd call it a psychic flashback or some such thing. That belonged
on the colourful pages of a comic book and skintight spandex didn't do a
thing for me. Although it's hard to explain exactly what I felt, it feels
like a warning. Just imagine the feeling you get when you feel someone's
watching and multiply that by a hundred. That would be close to what I
was feeling now. But not only could I sense someone approaching my front
foor, I could see his thoughts, his feelings, occasionally his
intentions... and if I probed deep enough, I could even literally see
through his eyes.

That wasn't what I needed today. Without a doubt, I knew who my unwelcome
visitor was. Although his footsteps didn't make a sound on the rustling
leaves and it sounded almost as if he was floating through the brush, yet
my mind was already flooded with him.

Clayton James made an impression wherever he went. It was easy enough to
bring his image to my mind. The flash of wily green eyes with deceptive
secrets hidden deep inside. The handsome, too-gorgeous-to-believe
matineee idol looks, a point of embarassment for him. The quick dimpled
grin, with just a touch of wickedness mixed in to balance his
boy-next-door looks. The tall, rangy, athletic build that had haunted my
fantasies more times than I could possibly count. The faint hint of his
cologne, the odd combination of musk and sandalwood. Was it any wonder
that I had those scents permeating my home?

In the late nights at home, with his scent in my bedroom, it was easy
enough to imagine those strong, powerful hands running down my naked
torso. It wasn't hard trying to imagine that beautiful, powerful physique
naked and covered wih sweat in my bed, all that pent-up passion and
energy focused solely on pleasure as he forcefully thrust his way into...
Obsessed was what I was... ever since Clayton James had come into my
life. Now that was a man who could make spandex look good. The fact that
I was the one keeping him at arm's length for various reasons - and that
he was perfectly willing to become my sex toy as he once put it only made
it that much worse for me.

In spite of my protests, my heart started beating a quick staccato as it
always did whenever he came into the room. I hesitated for a moment,
dropping his card back into the scrapbook. There was a sudden urge to
flee but that would have been cowardly, something he would no doubt blame
on my non-confrontational witch's blood and I wouldn't give him the
satisfaction.

The quick, impatient raps on my door would inevitably turn worse if I
didn't answer fast enough. After our last encounter, it wouldn't surprise
me to have him tearing down my door with his bare hands. Tossing the
scrapbook onto the couch, I hurried from the living room to the foyer.
Whispering the words to an unlock spell, the doors flipped open smoothly.
The last time I'd been here, I'd managed to oil the hinges to the door,
killing the eerie squeak that had amused my mother each time she visited.
She'd claimed it the perfect door for a witch's house.

"Certainly took you long enough!"

Unlike the first time he'd come knocking, the slick, cagey businessman in
Brioni's wasn't standing at my door this time. Instead, he was dressed in
scruffy jeans, boots and a heavy leather jacket that had seen far better
days. His square, well-proportioned jaw was surprisingly unshaven,
showing the rough bristles of a five-o-clock shadow. He looked mean,
angry and irritated, his dark green eyes snapping at me under their heavy
lids. Clayton the Thug, I called it, a guy you certainly wouldn't want to
mess around with and if I hadn't known the man, I'd have thrown the door
shut, bolted the door and run for hiding.

Even then, I had to fight the crazy urge to run my tongue across his
stubborn jaw. Despite the fact that my mind threw up red flags around
him, my body certainly knew what it needed. Just like the proverbial
Pavlovian reaction, the sight of him turned me on, sending the blood
rushing down to my loins. The persistent hard-on that I had whenever he
came within twenty feet of me surged to life. Damned good-looking
bastard. Did he even know that the scruffy, unshaven look suited him as
much as the clean-cut, Italian-suited look?

He wasn't foaming at the mouth yet which I gathered to be a good sign but
I certainly couldn't resist needling him a little. "This is certainly not
your usual look. Your butler got the day off?"

"He left a mark on my shirt with his iron so I killed and ate him. Was
that very wrong of me?" Clayton made a sound at the back of his throat
that sounded almost like a growl before he replied tersely, without a
hint of humour in his voice. An obvious overload of testosterone had
given him a low, sexy voice, a thrumming bass that sent thrills down my
spine.

It was difficult to know whether he was really pulling my leg so I
disregarded what he'd said. Following his example, I dropped my voice an
octave in reply. "Clayton."

A muscle started twitching at the edge of his jaw. "I drove for four
fucking hours. You gonna invite me in?"

"What are you doing here?" As he tried to step in with only a dismissive
grunt for a reply, I moved to block the entrance which I figured for a
futile move since he could easily toss me aside if he'd wanted to. From
personal experience, I knew that the hard, sculpted muscles straining
under his tight tee wasn't only for show. Add his natural strength to the
preternatural and he packed quite a punch.

"I'm here to enjoy the scenery."

Since it was obvious that there was nothing he loathed more, I asked
again. "Clayton."

Far from showing any irresistible urge to knock me aside, he offered me a
nasty little smirk. "That's the way you usually greet your visitors? What
the hell happened to hospitality? How the hell you keep your business
running is beyond me."

"Not a problem." I offered a tight smile. Just like my father, Clayton
didn't approve of my shop as they called it. They certainly hadn't made
it a secret that they would have much preferred I give up my little
enterprise and returned to the respectable family business of maiming and
hacking other demons. "Buy a fucking candle and I promise I'll play
nice."

"Obviously staying out here in the boondocks didn't improve your mood
any. Always said it's unnatural for a body to stay so far out in the
woods, even the bloody drive puts me out of sorts." Seeing the obvious
irritation mounting in my eyes, he only smiled, his brilliantly green
eyes glittered with unholy amusement. "Maybe this would help, honey."

A kiss wasn't what I was expecting and I only had a brief glimpse of his
amorous intentions before Clay was squashing me flat against the doorway.
It was another thing that he did extremely well, and I could feel my
knees buckling as his lips and tongue worked in tandem to slowly drive me
insane. I tried to make a protest but his lips pressed fiercely agaist
mine, robbing me of my breath. His breath burned against my cheek and
when I placed my hands on his slim waist, his large hands held them tight
and drew them up to his broad shoulders. Not content to remain where they
were, my adventurous fingers worked their way up to the tangled black
curls on his head and he let out a deep, throaty sigh that brought me
back to reality.

Just in time, I wrestled myself off the doorway and shoved him off. It
was like pushing a brick wall away and he didn't even budge an inch.

"Damn, now that makes the drive totally worth it." The steely anger in
his voice had melted away, replaced by sheer satisfaction. Brought to
life by our brief interlude, the evident lust in his eyes only made them
all the more greener, flashing wickedly in the fading light. Evidently
enjoying the taste, he licked his lips slowly. "Yummy. Chocolate chip
cookies?"

I'd eaten it earlier and obviously there was a trace on my lips. Or
somewhere at the back of my throat. "Stuff it, Clayton."

"I knew you were a closet sweet tooth. Baked it yourself too, I bet. All
you witches are the same." Pleased with his joke, he laughed, the earlier
aggravation forgotten for a while. "Sexy homemaking honeys."

Mercurial disposition. That was Clayton to a T. Beating up street toughs
one minute, laughing heedlessly the next.

Although, it was obvious that kissing certainly managed to soothe the
savage beast. Good to note if I were faced with a rampaging Clayton again
although I certainly wasn't going to try that cure anytime soon. No need
to tempt myself more than I needed. All my very good reasons for avoiding
him disappeared when faced with the sheer hard reality of him. When his
excellent lips were planted against mine, with that firm, muscular
physique pressed against mine, it was hard to think of him as the
opportunistic, scheming bastard that he was. All I could think of was his
chiseled torso, naked and glistening with sweat, the smooth, golden tan a
splendid contrast to my plain white cotton sheets.

"I missed you."

Just perfect. Disarming me just before I was tempted to cut into him for
making that comment about witches and baking. How did he ever find the
perfect words? It had to be the smarmy lawyer just hiding underneath that
sexy, irresistible bad-boy veneer. "Don't allude to feelings you don't
feel, Clayton."

"Bitchy lil witchy, aintcha." He just smiled as I growled at him. "No
doubt you believe I'm some kinda idiot hick, you're trying to get me mad
enough to leave but that won't work with me. I told you before that I was
here to stay, didn't I?" Clayton watched me quietly, the look in his
beautiful eyes stirring up memories I'd have preferred to forget.

He'd said those very words the first night at the hospital. After the
attack, my mother had been rushed into emergency surgery and I stood for
hours in the waiting room watching the snowflakes drift by that cold
November morning. My aunt was dead, my mother close to that state and I'd
gained a gang of sorcerous hoodlums for family. My father had fallen
asleep from exhaustion half an hour earlier. Yet Clayton had stood by my
side all night long, content to remain silent beside me. It was these
treacherous thoughts that had me wanting to throw myself into his arms
like the foolish witch that I was, when I should be avoiding him like the
inquisition.

"You don't have to speak like a country redneck, Harvard boy."

"Why not?" A wicked grin spread across his handsome face. "It irritates
you like hell, doesn't it? You know what, maybe I should give you another
kiss."

As he tried to tug me close, I whispered one of the incantations I kept
ever ready as part of my arsenal. The repel spell I'd learnt recently
knocked him back barely two feet but it sufficed for my needs.

Not a man to be so easily thwarted, there was a dangerous flash of his
green eyes that promised retaliation but he managed to get it under
control. "Now you're just trying to get me mad."

"Just shut up and come in, Clayton. I'm getting cold standing here." Too
late, it occurred to me that he'd already gotten a foot in despite my
earlier misgivings. Just one of the benefits of being a good kisser.

As I stepped aside to let him in, he paused as he walked by and said
softly. "I meant what I said earlier. I've missed you. I would have come
earlier if your father hadn't stopped me."

Obviously hadn't managed to stop him for long since I'd come back just
three days before. Just time enough to get some of my things in order and
to clean up the mess I'd left behind the last time. A rampaging werewolf
did more damage than I could imagine. And the shedding was hell on the
carpets.

Clayton showed no inclination to shed on my carpets. Instead, he hung up
his leather jacket, battered beyond recognition, on the row of pegs
behind my door. Surprisingly, underneath the heavy jacket, he wore a
plain black tee with the sleeves torn off. Obviously not every man could
pull off that look but Clayton certainly could.

My covetous gaze slid down his heavily muscled arms down to his
splendidly sculpted torso before I could help myself. The tight blue
jeans he wore only served to highlight his best assets, curving
appreciatively over the high, tight curves of his buttocks and down his
long, well-muscled legs. Despite his obvious flaws, no one could deny
that he was one magnificent piece of work.

As he turned around, he caught my roving eye before I could turn away but
thankfully, he didn't say anything. It was some time before I could
maintain my composure, and the red flush had gone away from my cheeks. It
was one thing to have him think that I was lusting after him, and quite
another to have him catch me checking out his ass.

Trying to control myself around him, I showed him the way into my living
room. Lost in the admiration of his fine physique, I'd failed to notice
the briefcase he'd carried in. "Come in and have a seat."

"So sweet, so polite." The man had a sexy sneer, no doubt about it. A
contemptuous curl of his full lips that made me want to chomp hard on
them. "You gonna offer me some tea with crumpets?"

Most people associate black cats and midnight blood rituals with witches
but that's far from the truth for most of the witches that I knew.
Morning herbal teas, civilized discussions, Laura Ashley dresses, those
were the hallmarks of the Coven that I knew. Sure, I hadn't leaned
towards the flowery printed dresses but in my Oxfords and plain khaki
Dockers, I looked as much a suburban witch as the rest of them.

It was an obvious jab at the witch side of my family and I promised
myself that I wouldn't rise to the bait. "Would you rather I dropped some
wolfsbane into your tea?"

"That's more like you, John." It wasn't the first time he'd come into my
home but he certainly hadn't had the time to look around that first time.
Strolling into the living room, he looked around the surroundings, a
quiet, almost gentle smile curling up his sensuous lips. "Although I have
to admit, your place looks a little spartan, unlike you."

A few chairs and fragile items had been broken during the fight and I'd
tossed them out leaving the room oddly bare. "I cleaned up some stuff
earlier so.."

His easy smile disappeared and a hard look came into his deep-set eyes.
"Should have broken his damned neck earlier."

"The timing was fine by me." Since Allen had my life in his hands at that
time and was planning to end it, Clayton's intervention had certainly
been timely.

With a short, harsh laugh, he shifted his probing gaze back to me. "You
drive me insane, you know that? I'm not usually the psychotic maniac you
always see but seeing and thinking of you just drives me crazy. Before I
came, I actually promised myself that I'd try my best to restrain my
temper. Actually tried to calm myself on the way here, counted to ten and
all that shit. Guess it didn't work out all that well." He grinned
ruefully at me.

I must have snorted. Imagining Clayton James keeping his temper in check
was a ludicrous idea. I had an image of Clayton crosslegged for an hour
of meditation in an incense-filled room and had to swallow the urge to
laugh. Not only would he scorn such prissy methods, he'd probably tear
the place apart after an hour out of boredom.

My disbelief was patently obvious and he had to make a token protest.
"Really, John. Hell, I'm a calm, collected kinda guy, the friendliest guy
you'll ever know. Just ask anyone..."

"Yeah, that must be what all your victims say before you bash their
skulls in." Since he didn't seem to have any friends apart from the bunch
of goons hired by my dad, I only had to smile. No doubt he'd be pleased
to know that his faithful employees either held him in tremendous awe or
were deathly terrified of him. A handful had incredibly vivid images of
Clayton at work that left me stunned myself but I always managed to pull
back before I could see more. Faced with such brutal imagery, I tried to
explain it away as something absolutely necessary in his line of work but
I still couldn't accept some of his more violent practices.

"Well, that's something else entirely." Trying to make light of the
situation, Clayton tried for a teasing smile. "And what would you know
about all that?"

"I've seen them."

His dark brows flew up for a moment in surprise before they settled down
in a worried frown. Knowing first-hand the extent of my powers, he
accepted my explanation without demur. "Now, why doesn't that surprise
me? I only do what has to be done, John, and unlike some, I certainly
don't derive any satisfaction from what I do." Beneath his dark brows,
his vivid green eyes were shuttered for once and his lips drew together
into a tight line as he spoke. "If you think I enjoy torture, I can
assure you that I.."

I stopped him before he could go on. That was another conversation we
weren't going to have. Knowing his silver tongue, it would be easy enough
for him to sweettalk me into agreeing that bashing a few heads together
for the greater good was acceptable practice. "Don't. There is no need to
offer me an explanation." If I was thinking he'd just quietly agree, I
was soon to be mistaken.

"John." Catching hold of my arm, he held tight before I could walk away.
"That's where you're wrong, and you know that."

"You're my father's employee. That is all that's between us and if you
think..."

"Bullshit! And don't fucking lie to me. Since we first met, you and I
have had this chemistry, this spark between us..."

A spark would have been an understatement for what I'd felt when he'd
come into my life. "Time out, Clayton. We're not going into that."

"That's what you said the last time." He watched me quietly, the internal
war in his green eyes quite evident. A vivid image of him throwing me
down on the floor in a rage of lust came to me and I realized they
weren't my thoughts, but his. Anyone with the right instinct would have
been repelled but I felt a distinctive thrill shiver down my spine. "I
don't give up easily, John, you know that. After all, you should know
better, you've read my mind before." There was hurt in his voice, and
more than a hint of accusation.

It was the one mistake I'd made in our relationship. Reading minds were
my forte and it had been since I was a teenager. With my heritage, the
magic in my blood was a given and both my mentors delighted in them,
teaching me the history, the ways and the magic of their craft. The fact
that I could read minds as well turned out as an unwelcome surprise to my
Aunt Hester, a sign of my sorcerer's bad blood as such an unlawful
intrusion into a person's thoughts were an anathema to her, but my mother
only took it in her stride. Although she tried her best to help me deal
with my burgeoning abilities, it was ultimately my harrowing experience
away from Black Falls that gave me the tools I needed to harness my
powers.

Nothing could have prepared me for Clayton however. Up till now, his
intentions were unclear to me, vague, blurry impressions were all I got
from him. The man had a mind that was as slippery as he was in person, a
fluid, almost tangible montage of feelings and thoughts that confused my
persistent interrogations. The one time I'd managed to probe deep enough,
it had been my one and possibly only time. There was a savage, almost
primal lust, something marvellously wild and uninhibited, lurking just
beneath the surface - beneath that cool, passionless exterior, the sleek
Italian suit and the Bruno Maglis that I'd erroneously associated with
him in the beginning. The unusual blend of primitive passions and
dispassionate logic had confused me for some time till two weeks back
when I'd received a significant eye-opener.

Power, position and money was what drove him. From the little I knew
about him, what I'd inadvertently gleaned from some of his words and
actions, I found that couldn't fault him for that. A childhood roaming
the streets in search of food and sustenance, a father who regularly
shattered his bones and a mother who drank herself into a stupor. Harsh
words and daily beatings certainly didn't help nurture a child's growth.
It only made him all the more determined to leave all that behind as he
grew older.

What I didn't like was the fact that he didn't have any qualms about
using me to get them. Since we'd met, he'd hinted more than once on a
deeper relationship and each time, I'd managed to avoid his propositions.
It was difficult to decide whether he was really in earnest or if it was
another ploy to gain an upper hand in the Cabal. After all, he'd made no
secret of the fact that it would have been quite a coup indeed to have
gotten the favourite bastard son of the boss back into the fold. Apart
from that, there was also the fact that I had considerable powers of my
own, and I'd gained a certain reputation of my own in the supernatural
world after my last debacle.

When I'd first learnt of his duplicity, I'd gone against my own tenets
and impulsively violated his privacy. Although I'd only managed to brush
across the surface of his mind, I'd gotten a brief glimpse of the man
behind. What surprised me was finding out that instead of being repulsed
by what I'd seen, I'd been hopelessly intrigued. "Clayton, reading your
mind doesn't leave me at all reassured about you."

"Fair enough." Evidently it was the answer he wanted since he nodded and
walked away. Walking over to the couch for a seat, his curious gaze swept
over the DVDs and the scrapbook I'd dropped there. Whatever he was going
to say about it he kept to himself. Instead he started digging around in
his briefcase and pulled out a heavy envelope.

As I took the seat beside him, he flashed that charming smile that made
my knees go weak, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. "Here. Take a
look at this. Your father wanted you to have a look at this." All traces
of his pseudo Southern twang faded away as his voice picked up a smooth
businesslike cadence. Who was the real guy? The laid-back Southern
cowboy? Or the slick business shark in Italian suits? Or was he the wild,
crazy-eyed man who had come bursting into that dark cell-like cabin weeks
ago to rescue me?

Weighing the envelope in my hands, I watched him with some suspicion.
"These aren't some dirty pictures of my dad and his mistress or
something, is it?"

He chuckled appreciatively before giving me a wicked wink in reply. "Just
look and find out, honey."

"Very funny. And stop with the honey business." Instead of finding
pictures of Clayton in several compromising positions, I found a plaque
with my name on it with several photos inside. I didn't need him to tell
me that they were the offices of the family firm back in New York.
"That's my name."

"Yeah, it's for your space at the main office, just right next door to
mine. You see.."

Slowly, I collected the pictures and placed them back inside. "Cosy."
Another ploy to get me back in the business. A little weak but I guess it
was the best my father could think of at short notice.

Getting into the spirit of things, he started to wax enthusiastically.
"You'd better believe it is. It's the corner office with some of the most
amazing views of the city. We could have the best interior designers in
and..."

"Fuck."

A glimmer of a smile lit up his dark, handsome features. "Sure, that
comes later. There's an interconnecting door between our offices, I
specifically asked for that, and I have a very comfortable leather
couch."

"Smooth operator, aren't you?" I said sarcastically. There was no need to
tell him that Clayton James and a leather couch were certainly great
incentives for me to return. The man knew that he looked good, and he
definitely knew of my attraction to him which is why he used that
shamelessly during our dealings.

"I have to be, especially when I'm dealing with a slippery customer like
you." Boldly, he placed a hand on my thigh, and I felt the palpable heat
of it jump straight to my groin.

"Me? I think you've got it all wrong."

"I'm not the one who scurried away from New York." He leaned towards me
on the couch, running his right hand slowly on the top of the sofa. "What
the hell happened? You suddenly left without telling me. I didn't like
it."

There was a quick flash of his dark green eyes, a telltale sign of his
temper. News of a Raging Clayton had been evident the moment I'd stepped
into the offices of Bad Demons Corp but I'd dismissed their thoughts as
exaggeration since how could this smooth, angel-faced hunk be the devil
they claimed? It wasn't long however before I found myself confirming
their unflattering description.

Clayton certainly kept his bubbling volcano of emotions under a very
tight lid since that hair-trigger temper hadn't been evident the first
time I met him. There was no trace of precognition in my abilities that I
knew of and yet the first time I'd seen him, I'd gotten a sudden jolt,
like a bolt of electricity through my heart. A flash of what could be
flitted through my brain, so fast that I could hardly grasp the idea. In
the nightmarish hell that my life had suddenly turned into, he walked
into it looking like an angel, all those jet-black curls rioting around
his handsome head, the innocently green eyes under the thick dark lashes,
the sexy bad-boy physique slicked up in Italian suits. The topsy-turvy
world I was in came to a sudden jolt and righted itself the moment he
came into it.

An angel who'd saved my life. But that was all before I'd seen the photo
frame in his office. It was the one thing keeping me from tumbling him
down on the couch as he'd imagined earlier. Pursuing married sexually
ambivalent men with a green-eyed boy wasn't in my agenda.

Carefully, I nudged his hand away from my thigh. "I didn't think I needed
to make a full report of my activities to you, Clayton."

"No, you're not my employee. You're the man that I .."

I hastily stopped him before he could finish what he was about to say.
Having him here knowing he was untouchable was enough without a
confession of his feelings for me. "What are you actually doing here? You
couldn't have come all the way to hand me something you know I'm gonna
say no to. There's no way I'm going to join Bad Demons Corporation and
you know that."

My reply left him looking almost insulted. "Need you even ask? You think
I only want you back for the good of the damned company? I've come for
you. Come on, you can't mean to stay here forever, this lil speck in the
dust." He gestured outwards and I could see in my mind's eye the sleek
lil Italian sportscar he'd parked outside. A boy's toy and I'd told him
as much before. If he could only have seen it, Clayton would certainly
have derided the old pick-up truck that I drove to work.

"You're gonna get mud on that pretty little toy of yours," I warned him.

"It'll wash." Under the black T-shirt, his broad shoulders lifted in a
small, dismissive shrug. "And anyway you could always wiggle your little
nose to make it disappear."

The reference to the blond witch on a television series certainly didn't
amuse me. Since we'd met, Clayton had come to realize that bringing up
stereotype witches was an endless source of irritation for me. "Look, you
didn't have to come all this way. Since she's getting better, my mother
sent me home to get a few things. I certainly didn't scurry away as you
so nicely put it. I've just got some work to do over here, check some
inventories for the shop, handle some of the orders."

"You know that's not what I mean." Clayton protested. "You can't
seriously mean to stay here after all that has happened."

If he'd asked me that a few weeks back, I'd have jumped at the
opportunity to return to New York with him. "You know, I don't think
another werewolf's gonna stop by in Black Falls. We've filled out our
quota for the year."

"Your mother's not likely to leave New York anytime soon. She's gonna
need some physical therapy for a while and.."

"I know all that but I have my work, my store is here. I've thought of
commuting back and forth, and..."

He stopped me in the midst of my long explanation which I was grateful
for since I hadn't thought it through. "Look, I've spoken to your father
about this. The Cabal would be willing to reimburse all your expenses.
You enjoyed staying in the brownstone we have there, you can certainly
have it. And from what I've heard, there are stores to be had in New
York."

"My little enterprise competing with all the other stores in New York?
Try your snake-oil charm elsewhere, Clayton. You aren't going to win me
over that way."

He pouted those sexy lips. "I don't mean to go until.."

"You're gonna howl and bite me if I don't go?" It was a low blow but I
was simply running out of ammunition. It would be so simple to leave
everything and go with him but there was the matter of a small green-eyed
boy in a photo frame and his misguided father. Having an affair with the
misguided yet incredibly sexy father would be terribly wrong and I had to
repeat it to myself like a mantra.

Caught by my words, he flushed crimson in anger and his hands curled into
tight fists. Comments on his recent affliction always struck a nerve and
it would only take moments before they turned to claws. To everyone else,
he was the Iceman and yet with me, I could prick him so very easily.

"That was wrong of me, I shouldn't have said that."

Surprised by my sudden unprecedented generosity, he watched me curiously.
"That's very diplomatic of you, John."

It was getting dark even as we sat there and I realized that a drive back
would have him reahcing New York in the wee hours of the morning. Looking
back, I realized that I'd cooked enough for two. Some form of
precognition perhaps. "Clayton, since you are here, then you might as
well stay for dinner."

"You just apologized and now you're asking me for dinner?" The sudden
turnabout in the topic made him even more suspicious. "What? You trying
to pull my leg here?"

"It's getting dark, and I've seen for myself the crazy way you drive.
You're staying here tonight." I would certainly enjoy doing something
other than pull his leg but I figured such inappropriate comments would
only enflame his lusts. And he was only too willing to give in to that.
"It's the least I could do for the man who saved my life. And my
mother's."

That succeeded in rousing his ire and his stern eyes narrowed. "Don't
insult me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, you know that."

"I don't know that." He looked as if he was about to argue the point but
I quickly cut him off. "Go get some of your stuff in."

He raised a dark inquiring brow. "Where.."

"You're not sleeping in my bed."

"Hey, I never said anything." Turning back from the door, he looked back
with a pleased grin. "So what are we having for dinner?"

For all his wicked ways, Clayton had surprisingly simple needs. Sex and
food satisfied him usually and a combination of both would have been
irresistible. Of course all I was gonna offer him was food, no matter how
lusciously sexy he might look in jeans and a tight T-shirt.