Read Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) for Free Online

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    Not again. Never again.
    He’d sworn he’d jerk off in the shower before getting involved with someone like her.
    Breathing hard, he managed to stop touching Seraphine, stop kissing her.
    Breaking contact was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Or so he thought, until he said, “Look, this can’t work between us,” and walked away from her.
    * * * * *
     
    The blood spray on the yacht’s deck made Camille remember the inkblots that crazy school counselor had made her look at in fifth grade. Borsch test? No. Rorschach test. That’s what he’d called it.
    She glanced at the knife in her hand, unlocking her fingers to see the goat’s head that was part of the sigil of Baphomet carved into the hilt. Ruby eyes sparkled and winked in the moonlight, as if she and the athame now shared a secret.
    A laugh bubbled up and she danced in place, whirled. Feeling carefree, exhilarated, energized by the murder rather than the death itself.
    She’d killed before, a palsied old husband who’d lied about his worth and left her with barely enough money to cover the legal fees after she’d been arrested for his death. She’d rid herself of him out of boredom-tinged necessity, while this was…
    This was pleasure more than anything else. A task given to her by her mistress, yes, but it’d hardly been a challenge to seduce the pathetic man sprawled at her feet.
    She nudged dear Robert. Her bare toe compressed pale, soft, office-worker skin.
    He’d been an easy mark. She didn’t consider the moans and screams of pretended orgasm hard work any more than a Broadway actress found it difficult to speak the required lines after having done the same play night after night for weeks or months or years. She’d fucked uglier, meaner men than him to get what she wanted.
    And women. She knew how to play them too, though they often offered more of a challenge.
    Helene— Mistress, as she preferred to be thought of—would be pleased with tonight’s work.
    Camille smiled, sly and wicked as she carried the athame to her lips and very carefully touched her tongue to the flat of the blade, claiming a drop of blood for herself. She would enjoy using this blade again. And again. And again, because Helene believed the blade would be more powerful if it was blooded first before it was used on the sacrificial offering necessary to summon a demon lord.
    But now to dispose of Robert. His work was done.
    She giggled though she knew it was time to get serious. Very serious. Dead bodies needed to disappear and stay that way. She knew just the place.
    Not wanting to put the knife down, she used her foot, pushing, sliding Robert to the deck’s edge. She paused, eyes going to the ring box in his trouser pocket.
    The temptation was there, to see his little offering. But if she saw, she might take, and that was too much risk for a trinket she wouldn’t value nearly as much as his death.
    With a kick she sent him over and into the smaller boat tethered to the yacht for just this purpose.
    Thud . And dear Robert was one step closer to his final resting place.
    She took the knife into the cabin and put it in the case Helene had consecrated for it. She lingered over it, reluctant to separate until finally, with a sigh, she closed the lid. She couldn’t risk losing it in the swamp.
    Returning to the deck, she stopped next to a lounge chair and stroked the diaphanous wrap she’d worn earlier. After handing over the prize, dear Robert had intended to go down on a knee and ask her to marry him, not that he’d said as much but she knew men.
    He’d turned his back at her command, anticipating their making a memory together, one in which she was naked. One in which he surprised her by proposing—and oh, there had been a surprise, though it hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
    Lucifer’s Blade was no ordinary knife. It was meant to kill. She suspected it would cut through bone as easily as it slid through tendons and muscles and cartilage.
    She lifted her face to