“Which brings us up to now.” She let out a low exhale, shoved her pencil behind her ear, and said, “Yeah. That all makes sense.”
“Wait...really?” Caitlyn said, echoing my own disbelief. Laid out like that, the whole story sounded utterly ludicrous.
The investigator shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, Ms. Myers. But we’ll need all of you available as witnesses for Ms. Raisin’s trial with the Council.” She glanced toward Mordi before saying, “Ms. Cole isnotgoing to be happy. She thought she was getting out of attending a Council trial.”
“Wait,” Caitlyn said slowly. “You’ve already spoken to my head of the coven?”
“About a separate matter, yes,” she replied. “She’s got her work cut out for her this month. First, the trial with the witch who hexed the mortal”—she ticked off a finger—“then the basilisk incident”—another finger—“then the trial involving the incubus whokilledthe mortal”—a third finger—“and nowthis.”
The Council investigator drew in a long breath as she deposited the notebook into an inner pocket of her cloak. “I think I’ve got everything I need. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just figure out how to extract Ms. Raisin, and then we’ll be on our way.”
We all let out a collective sigh of relief.
And so, mugs of cocoa in hand, we sat and watched no fewer than five Council investigators spend a full thirty minutes debating how to get Isadora out, before Caitlyn finally offered a helpful “Maybe just ask nicely?”
We watched with glee as Isadora was eventually spat out by Mordi, drenched in a thick coating of saliva and cursing every one of us to hell and back. The investigators quickly placed a mask that looked like something Hannibal Lecter would wear over her face, presumably to muffle her song, before escorting her into the back of their vehicle. After Priscilla received assurances that the investigators would look into who her father was and whether he, too, had been a victim of her mother, we waved them off.
Through slightly gritted teeth, Caitlyn offered Priscilla a room for the night, much to Creep’s utter delight. Priscilla accepted, also through slightly gritted teeth.
The evening was spent with my mates curled up on either side of me in the nest prepared by Blaise, watchingHexes at Noon. Priscilla, Creep clutched in her arms, watched from an armchair, rolling her eyes every time Caitlyn and Blaise quoted the upcoming lines, which was often, seeing as they’d both rewatched the show an ungodly number of times.
The night finally drew to a close with a decidedly brighter-looking Priscilla carrying a thoroughly delighted Creep into a spare room for snuggles.
After issuing a lengthy lecture on why it wasn’t appropriate to pick up where we’d left off before Isadora had arrived, what with Priscilla sleeping just next door—despite Blaise’s heartfelt argument that Caitlyn biting him was practically a medical necessity at this point—Blaise and I settled on either side of our mate, whispering into her ears all the wonderfully wicked things we intended to do to her the moment we were finally alone again.
Epilogue. Blaise
A few days later...
––––––––
I was known to be a bit of a tease.
I’d like to say it was because of my nature as an incubus demon, but in reality, I suspected it was just me as an individual.
I couldn’t help it. When I got lost in the moment, I loved to put on a bit of a show—and when my mates responded to it, when their desire spiked as they watched me tease out every last drop of pleasure from them... it was exquisite.
But as much as we all thoroughly enjoyed that slightly slutty side of me, I was just as interested in sitting back and letting someone else take the lead. Which was how, this evening, I found myself tied to the bed—my idea, because if I let my hands wander, I’d inevitably end up taking over—propped against the headboard, my cock buried deep inside Caitlyn, her back writhing against my chest, and Ambrose settled between our legs.
And—Gods—he was fucking magnificent to watch.
Ambrose’s tongue, inhumanly long, wrapped around the base of my cock, pressing against Caitlyn’s folds as the flat of it pulsed against her clit. She’d already come twice like this, and from the focused set of Ambrose’s mouth, I knew he was determined to coax a third from her before we moved on.
I loved this side of him.
While I tended to lose myself to sensation, letting instinct and pleasure take the reins, Ambrose was the worshipper—deliberate, reverent, and intent on drawing every possible reaction from the mates in his care.
His fingers worked inside me in time with the steady rhythm of his tongue against Caitlyn’s clit, and—Gods—I was going to need her to come soon, because I was rapidly running out of restraint.
If I could, I’d have squeezed her breast, traced the mark of my mating bite, or dragged my fingers over the swell of her stomach just to press into Ambrose’s mating bite there.
But alas, I quite literally had my hands tied.
As if Ambrose heard my silent plea, he let the tip of his tongue slide into Caitlyn alongside my cock. Her breath hitched sharply, her arms lifting to wrap around my head as she came for the third time, her body tightening and trembling against me.
I tried—truly tried—to keep from following her over the edge. But when her body writhed against mine, the flat of her arm pressing into Ambrose’s bite mark at my neck, the crown of her head tipping back to press into her bite mark at my collarbone as her back bowed, I couldn’t help but join her. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight from my mating bites and directly to the tip of my cock—right as Ambrose curled his fingers inside me.
My vision blurred as curses and breathless praises spilled unconsciously from both Caitlyn and me, while Ambrose kept working us through our orgasms with unyielding devotion.
