Dark Rogue

Bastian Mallek found it impossible to ignore the scent any longer.
For days on end the smell of her had haunted him, slowly seeping into each thought, and each waking second of his life until it had become so entangled with every part of him that escaping it became impossible.
The witch was circling him. And even the smallest pup knew that meant that there were very few choices left.
Closing his eyes Bastian willed away the deep rush of blood pounding dangerously in his ears. If she’d come alone it would make an easy kill. The thought swirled around him dampening the air with each tantalizing breath.
But you can’t hunt witches anymore! The thin remainder of his conscience argued.
Bastian nudged the highly strung and overly endowed blonde sitting next to him, passing her a handful of crumpled cash and pointed to the bar.
If he’d had an ounce of compassion left in him he would have informed her that he was fluent in Russian, but time and time again he found that faking a language barrier got him into the beds of beautiful women quicker. Besides, the reality of the situation was that his plan for her involved little more than one night’s distraction.
Watched in fascination as the blond moved away, each inch of her curvy body swayed dangerously. He didn’t bother debating if it was the four inch heels that gave her the walk or if she’d come by it naturally. It wasn’t really his job to care after all. In the end he would matter as little to her as she did to him and he preferred it that way.
The smile faded from his eye with each step the blond took. Suddenly the warm bed and the warm body he’d secured for himself faded away as the thick wooden door to the tavern swung open.
In some parts of the world it was easier for a witch to pass as human. More often than not it’s the places where the pace of technology moves faster than human imagination. Those parts of the world where each corner filled with sparkling light bright enough to drive the monsters away and the warnings of long dead ancestors have faded to nothing.
This was not one of those places.
This was Belarus. A place that still bore the label of being the old country. It was secluded, cold and downright hostile to most strangers that crossed its border. It was also the kind of place where people still hung garlands of garlic, carried vials of holy water and spoke in veiled whispers of the Yaga coming in the dead of night to living breath from their bodies. .
The witch should have known better.

****

Bastian watched carefully, his pulse racing appreciatively at the sight. Standing no more than five and a half feet, her body managed to give the impression of length, with long legs and generous curves. Exactly his type.
And from the reaction she was getting from the other males in the room he could tell it was a shared sentiment, except that as her golden eyes scanned the room; desire was replaced by fear.
Bastian smiled, the weakness of the average human male was as predictable as it had ever been. Idiots, he thought to himself, like puppies running from a thunderstorm.
After several long, agonizing seconds the focus of her attention settled on him and Bastian was forced to admit he’d been caught. Ignoring the stares of the tavern patrons, the witch maneuvered through the small crowd that separated them and quickly made her way to his table.
“They think you’re a succubus you know.” He said appreciatively as the full sight of her lush, red lips and hauntingly pale skin came into full view.
The witch rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “I’m used to it.” She shrugged, her long dark waves bouncing past her shoulders.
“You should be more careful.” Bastian teased, his imagination lost on the image of that hair, with its inky black tendrils falling across cool sheets as she move her lush body under his.
“You’re not exactly trying to hide from the locals yourself dog. I could smell you all the way from Romania.”
“They don’t seem to mind. That is as long as I don’t snack on too many innocent virgins.” Bastian squared his shoulders, brushing off her insult. “You’re a long way from home though.”
“Can I have a seat?” She asked with a sneer.
“No,” Bastian smiled. “It’s reserved.”
“Really?” Cocking her head to one side she took a long, careful look at him before looking around the room dramatically. “I wasn’t aware that wolves had imaginary friends?”
“I suppose that it all just depends on your definition of imaginary.” He snickered as his blonde companion returned, both hands weighted down with drinks. “Although I bet Anya here wouldn’t really appreciate the slur on her character.”
Bastian enjoyed the rush of blood that flooded into the witch’s cheeks. Easily embarrassed…He was going to have to remember that when the time came.
“We need to talk.”
“No we don’t.”
Beside him the blonde squirmed her way into the booth, tucking herself up beside him, artfully letting the hem of her dress tease its way up her thigh. Bastian leaned away from her, the focus of his attention now centered on the new arrival.
“I’m not leaving.”
The blonde shifted her weight on the hard bench they shared, this time draping her reed thin arm across the back of his shoulders in a gesture too possessive for his liking, even with the generous view of her perfect milky white breasts the position gave him. Although he did applauded her ability to toss shame and social grace out the window in such a public display of desperation.
The thought of an easy night spent in the bed of the luscious blonde was of no more consequence to him than the tumble he’d taken with a redhead in the neighboring town two nights before. There would be other blondes in big beds. Tonight he was more interested in what the witch was offering.
“If you’re not planning on leaving me alone, then you can at least extend me the simple courtesy of telling me your name.”
The woman beside him protested, mumbling to herself as Bastian pulled away.
“Your friend looks annoyed with you.”
“Name?” He pressed again.
“Keira Rowan.”
“Ah,” he mused thoughtfully. “One of the Rowan witches? How interesting.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“You’re a very long way from home Keira Rowan.” His gaze growing more suspicious. “You SpellKeepers rarely leave the safety of your coven.”
“True.” She paused, her golden eyes burning into his. “We only leave under the direst of circumstances.”
“And what sort of circumstances would bring you to Belarus all the way from the coast of Maine?” He growled.
Keira’s eyes fell to his companion.
“Don’t worry; she doesn’t speak a word of English.”
“No.” Keira shook her head. “Not here.”
Snarling as he jumped to his feet, Bastian grabbed hold of the witch and began dragging her up the stairs to his room above the tavern. “Fine!” He growled low in her ear. “It’s just you and me.”